


You Still Make Sense To Me; Your Mess Is Mine

by ElloPoppet



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Apologies, Bed-Stuy, Brainwashed Loki (Marvel), Clint Barton Feels, Confessions, Deaf Clint Barton, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff, Fraction's Hawkeye, Genderfluid Loki (Marvel), Getting Together, Identity Swap, Loki (Marvel) Feels, Loki (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Loki Is Trying, M/M, Magic, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, New Asgard, Panic Attacks, Party, Past Mind Control, Phone Calls & Telephones, Portals, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Texting, Trust Issues, Understanding, house arrest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 07:02:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24466909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElloPoppet/pseuds/ElloPoppet
Summary: Loki didn’t look a day older than he had in 2012, but he did look different. The brightness of his skin, the darkness of his hair and the color of his shirt brought out his eyes, which were locked onto Clint’s beneath the furrow of his brow.Loki’s eyes shone emerald green, and Clint’s hold on himself broke loose.Not a hint of fucking blue. This is bad. Or good. I don’t know what this is.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Maria Hill, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Loki, James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark (background), Natasha Romanov/Sam Wilson (background)
Comments: 132
Kudos: 376





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What am I doing here.
> 
> Once I learned that it was canonized that Loki was also under mind control in the Avengers (which still feels like retcon to me, but I digress), I couldn't stop wondering what Clint might do with that information. After exploring the Clint/Loki tag for a bit and realizing that there aren't a whole lot of works in the vein of what I enjoy reading, I decided to go about writing something myself. So have what will inevitably be a recovery, hurt/comfort, angst/fluff, slow burn with feels and apologetic Loki (but still a sassmaster trickster because.... _Loki_ ) fic.
> 
> Mind the PTSD tag. There will be some description of anxiety attacks and other mental health struggles throughout; please take care. 
> 
> Clint is based on a melding of Fraction's Hawkeye with MCU history. Post Civil War/Ragnarok, but the Asgardians made it to Earth because fuck Thanos.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> -EP

7/27/2015

Director Nicholas Fury  
Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division  
219 West 47th Street  
17th Floor, Suite 9  
New York City, NY 10036

Director Fury,

As per your request, please find outlined below the findings reported following the neuro-biopsychosocial assessment of subject 7071-0014504, completed by Dr. Chantal Brooks-Quenneville, Director of the Psychiatric Intensive Critical and Criminal Care Unit (PICCC-U), located at S.H.I.E.L.D Headquarters, 4th Floor, Suite 2. 

Following extensive neurological testing, psychological assessments, magnetic resonance imaging, medical and blood workups, along with consultations and oversights by Asgardian law enforcement and healers throughout the process, it has been determined that subject 7071-0014504 was not operating under his own conscious will during the time frame of his engagement with S.H.I.E.L.D operatives in 2012. It has been determined that the majority of neurological faculties required to make independent decisions were under duress by an unidentified outside factor. 

All test results were within meaningful range to be comparable to the results of subjects 3517-537715 and 07147-845704, respectfully. It is this clinician’s recommendation that subject 7071-0014504’s identification of “Terrorist Threat Level 1A” be reconsidered, as the subject currently shows comparable results to above named subjects and does not appear to be a risk of harm to self or others. Above named subjects are currently identified as “Threat Level 0” in case a reminder is necessary. 

Please do not hesitate to reach out with any further questions.

Dr. Chantal Brooks-Quenneville, PsyD, PhD  
Director of PICCC-U  
Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division

*

Clint read the folded photocopy again, slower this time, allowing himself to parse out the information and sort it out fully in his sleep-addled brain as he went line by line, rather than trying to stuff it all in at once. Upon his second, slower read, he took it upon himself to step back into his apartment, thinking it wise to close the door behind him so that he could have his panic attack in peace (or at least in privacy, as to not freak out the neighbors). 

“I should make coffee,” he muttered to himself, even as he was sliding downward toward the ground, his back to the door, knowing full well that his legs wouldn’t be able to carry him to the kitchen to do so. “I should really, really make some coffee.” 

Lucky plodded over to him then, sensing something was off no doubt, and while the coldness and wetness of his nose did manage to keep Clint from losing his grounding completely, not even Lucky could keep his breaths from shortening. In a matter of seconds Clint was reduced to near hyperventilating, his lungs on fire as they tried to draw in as much air as possible in quick, rapid bursts, the photocopy that he had found taped to the outside of his door now crumpled in his fist even though he had taken such care to fold it back along its perfect creases. 

Clint wasn’t sure what to do with his eyes, and _that_ was the most panic inducing thought. If he kept them open, there were too many things to see, too many open spaces to take into account and too much input, but if he closed them? If he closed them, he wasn’t sure what color they would be when they opened, and that thought was so, so much _worse_. 

“Fuck. _Fuck_. What color are his eyes? They were blue, they were goddamn _blue,_ but _are they blue?_ ” Clint rambled, to himself or to Lucky he couldn’t be sure, but hearing the words as they tumbled from his own lips did nothing to help quell the rising panic in his chest. He did close his eyes, then, remembering to imagine the brick wall that he had built in his mind’s eye countless times over the previous half-decade, one of the more worthwhile skills that he had learned in his mandated therapy sessions after the battle of New York. 

The bricks in his mind were rustic, brownish red, and he knew that they belonged to the side of a building that he had spent days and nights leaning against whenever the circus would set up their usual haunt in some bumfuck town in Missouri. Why _that_ brick wall, he didn’t know and frankly he had never taken the time to really care. Clint focused on it, leaning against his door, forcing air into his lungs, fighting against the barrage of images trying to assault his mind. 

It worked with time, as it usually did. After however many minutes passed (Clint couldn’t be sure), he brought his free hand up to his throat to feel his pulse. Satisfied that his heart rate was under 100 beats per minute, he inhaled as fully as possible, the expanding of his lungs creating a smooth tension, a dull ache beneath his breastplate, an indicator that he was fine and that this anxiety hadn’t managed to do him in this time, either. 

Clint cracked his eyes open slowly, focusing on his socked feet directly in front of his body, zeroing in on the whiteness of them before opening his eyes completely. Satisfied that nothing was even tinged cerulean in the slightest, Clint leaned his head back against the door, where it _thunked_ ever so slightly. By his side, Lucky let out a low whine. 

Clint buried his hand in the dog’s fur. “It’s alright, bud. I know, it’s been a minute since you’ve seen me freak out like this. Didn’t mean to worry your little mutt head.” He scratched behind Lucky’s ears for a beat before bracing himself to stand, ensuring his balance once on his feet and only then putting one foot in front of the other, carrying himself numbly to the kitchen, Loki’s psychological test results still clutched in one blanched, aching fist. 

*

“Tash, I get that you’re trying to be, I dunno, _reassuring_ or something for reasons that I don’t quite understand, but c’mon. Give me some credit, I’m not a goddamn idiot, contrary to popular belief,” Clint said, phone on speaker where it rested on the countertop as he focused both on his conversation with Natasha while also trying not to scald himself as he poured himself a mug of coffee. “You think I’d ever forget my subject number? I needed it to sign into my therapy appointments. Besides, context clues. Hello. Superspy assassin, just like you.”

Natasha made an amused sound on the other end of the line. “Just like me? You’re not an idiot, I’ll give you that, but that sounds like a challenge.”

Clint groaned. “Not the time. Thanks for trying to distract me, but I’m feeling a bit up in smoke here, Nat.”

A sigh. “Fine. I don’t know what you want me to say, Clint. I don’t think you need my validation. The assessment is obviously talking about you and Selvig as the comparison subjects, and I won’t pretend that there’s any mystery as to whose results these are.” Natasha fell silent, and Clint used the opportunity to take a long pull of his coffee. It burned on the way down. He didn’t appreciate how his hands shook around the mug. 

“I’ve been telling you for years to put up surveillance in that damn ramshackle hut you call an apartment complex. Think you’ll finally listen to me now?”

Clint snorted. “You would find a way to turn this into an ‘I told you so’ moment. It’s a real skill. You should add it to your resume. Master assassin, former S.H.I.E.L.D Special Operative, Avenger, Righteous Asshole.” 

Through his hearing aids and all, Clint could practically catch her smirk through the phone. “Tell me I’m wrong. If you’d been a responsible building owner, you’d have installed security ages ago. But no, your big head got in the way. I will say that the fact you’re being a dick is making me feel like you’ll be just fine, though.” Another pause, a moment of hesitation. “Right?”

Silence fell across the line as Clint debated between being completely honest, lying through his teeth or walking a line somewhere in between. 

“I dunno. There was so much comfort in knowing who to blame, in having a face and a fucking monster to hate for what I did. I don’t really know what to do with the thought that I’ve been hating another victim this whole time.” The moment the honest answer left his mouth, Clint wanted to swallow the words back; they tasted bitter on his tongue. 

“Survivor. Cut the _victim_ bullshit, it’s been years since a slip like that. What would your therapist say?” Natasha’s voice was rigid. Clint gripped the cup harder, annoyance sluicing through him. 

“Gee, Nat, I don’t know and I can’t really say I give a damn right now. Allow a bit of a backslide given that I’ve just had my entire fucking trauma rewired, or what’s the fucking word, _reframed_ from under my ass, will ya? Christ.” He could tell that he was being harsh with her, and he took a breath to apologize; instead, he kept going. 

“And fine, so, what, Loki’s a ‘ _survivor_ ’ like me ‘n Selvig, that’s just great. Knowing that isn’t just going to make every association I’ve ever had with the greasy haired asshole just poof, disappear, and now guess what I get to do, Natasha?”

“You get to wonder who was controlling all of you.”

“Ding ding fuckin’ ding. See, not an idiot, just like you aren’t. And, AND, not only that, but I also get to stay awake nights wonderin’ who scotch-taped this cursed goddamn crooked-as-shit photocopy to my door in the first place.” Clint sighed and drained the rest of his coffee before setting it down in the sink. He rested his forehead on the cool countertop. “And I get to wonder that because I didn’t install stupid security cameras. I’m sorry for being a jerk.”

“No, I partially deserved that. Some of it, at least. I guess I shouldn’t pretend to know how to be a psychiatrist after attending one therapy appointment with you in, what was that, 2013? Let’s call it an even ledger.”

Clint hummed his agreement, and Natasha continued. 

“Is there anything you need? I can do a little bit of digging with Hill. With S.H.I.E.L.D files essentially having been wiped last year, I don’t know if she’ll have any idea how someone managed to get their hands on something from 2015, but I’ve seen her work some magic before. And I’m pretty sure I can convince her not to tip off Fury if you don’t want her to.” 

Clint started nodding his assent before he realized that Nat couldn’t see him. _Right._ “Yeah, that’d be good. Don’t kill yourself, I don’t expect any miracles and I don’t need you getting your wrists tapped. You managed to get out of this Accords nonsense without house arrest; you gotta stay free, or else who’s gonna bring me pizza, beer and overpriced coffee?”

“It’s called DoorDash, Clint.”

Clint snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks, bud. You gonna be hangin’ out with your handsome beau over there at the compound for awhile?”

“Do you want to tell Wilson what you just said? Or should I? Oh, please, please let me do it, I don’t want to miss the look on his face when he decides to kick your ass in, what is it now, 17 months when the monitors come off?”

“Pleasant, thanks for that.”

“Bye, Barton.”

“Romanov.”

When the call ended, Clint was again left alone with only Lucky for company. He felt more settled, however, and he was grateful for Natasha and her ability to soothe him with her knowledge of him and his needs; distraction via taunting, humor, escalation, confirmation of his own competence. He missed her something fierce and allowed a few moments of self-beration for deciding to serve his two-years of house arrest at the complex in Bed-Stuy rather than at the compound with Sam, Wanda and Steve. 

“Scott has his kid, you’ve got your...this place, these people,” he reminded himself under his breath, not for the first time, and likely not for the last. 

Feeling calmer and safer within his own skin, Clint stretched where he stood in the kitchen, put his phone in the pocket of his sweats and went to put on some real clothes before taking Lucky downstairs in order to get one of the Harrington kids to take him for his morning walk. On his way out of the kitchen, the ball of paper on the countertop caught his eye. Clint stilled, and stared. 

When he threw the psychological assessment into the trash, it was from across the room and over his left shoulder, blind. It was a clean land. 

*

Three days passed.

They passed like most of the other days had over the previous seven months of Clint’s house arrest; the minutes felt like hours, and then all too suddenly the day was _over_ , as though it hadn’t even had the chance to really start. Time didn’t make sense on house arrest, Clint had learned quickly, and so he’d stopped trying to make sense of it. He’d picked up the habits of eating when hungry instead of trying to stick to any kind of schedule; he read or drew mockups of new arrow designs when his mind buzzed with boredom, and exercised in his bedroom when his body shook with apathy. He’d taken to spending time tending to the small garden on the roof and fixing things around the complex; he had free reign for the most part, and only lost signal to his ankle monitor in the basement and in Ms. Jones’ kitchen in 3B. 

On the third evening after Clint’s history had been thoroughly twisted inside out, he decided to treat himself to ordering takeout from the somewhat expensive Indian place uptown; he had barely slept in the last seventy hours, had eaten a few bites here and there, and his body had started aching at that point from being on high alert whenever he so much as heard someone walk by his apartment door, or a voice carry through the window from the street below. 

He deserved some goddamn comfort tikka masala, dammit. 

Twenty minutes after placing his order there was a knock on the door, and Clint’s stomach rumbled, a conditioned response. It was nearing 10:00 pm (nearing closing time), so Clint made sure to snatch an extra crumpled ten from his wallet as a tip for making the delivery person come out into the neighborhood so late. Money in hand and more than ready( _finally ready_ , after three futzing days) to devour his food, Clint pulled the door open with gusto. 

Standing on the other side of Clint’s apartment door, a takeout bag in one hand and the other raised, palm forward and empty, was Loki. 

Clint had learned all about trauma responses in therapy. Fight, flight, freeze, fawn, or a combination. Sometimes predictable, sometimes not. Clint? He found, through experience, that he cycled between fighting (most of the time) or freezing (occasionally). When he opened the door, expecting to find a delivery person from the Indian place uptown and instead found Loki fucking Odinson _or whatever the fuck his name is_ , Clint responded in an entirely novel way. 

He froze. _And then he burst out laughing._

“You-” Clint wheezed, unable to look at Loki, unable to do anything but wrap his arms around himself as he drew in a breath, only to continue giggling as he spoke, “-have got to be fucking with me right now.”

He wanted to look up, but instead focused his attention on Loki’s hands. His training was always _on_ , and in that moment, he was grateful. 

“You can’t be here,” Clint managed, still squeezing his arms around his own ribs, tears (from laughter? He hoped so) threatening to spill. He noticed how tightly Loki’s fingers were clenched around the handle of the food bag; white and then red, the circulation interrupted. “You have to go. Right now, you have to go.”

“I think,” and oh, fuck, that voice was much louder in reality than it had been in Clint’s head for the last five fucking years, “that you may benefit from sitting down?”

The statement was so out of left field, so _unexpected_ , that it shocked Clint into snapping his head upward, finally looking at Loki full force, head on. Ever the spy, ever the assassin, ever _on,_ Clint took in many minute details at once. 

Loki didn’t look a day older than he had in 2012, but he did look different. His cheeks appeared fuller, his skin less sallow, and his hair had grown; even pulled back and tied at the nape of his neck, Clint could tell. It was clean, the shine soft instead of greasy, and Loki hardly looked like _Loki_ dressed in black jeans and a dark grey cashmere sweater. The brightness of his skin, the darkness of his hair and the color of his shirt brought out his eyes, which were locked onto Clint’s beneath the furrow of his brow. 

Loki’s eyes shone emerald green, and Clint’s hold on himself broke loose.

Clint quickly slammed the door closed in Loki’s face, latched both locks, and pressed against the door with all of the weight of his body as though Loki was going to start ramming through at any moment. 

_Green. So green. Undoubtedly green. Not a hint of fucking blue. This is bad. Or good. I don’t know what this is. Why is he here? HOW is he here? Where’s Thor? Green. His eyes a-_

A light rap on the door caused Clint to startle. 

“Barton?”

Clint clenched his jaw. 

“My presence is obviously unwelcome. I was hoping that given some new information, you might’ve been more willing to sit down with me. For conversation, if that wasn’t clear. I-” A pause, and Clint’s mind whirred, because _why didn’t Nat or I parse that out? Some super spy assassins we are, fuck._

“I don’t know what you want me to do with your food. While it’s in a bag, I feel unsettled putting it outside of your door. To be frank, the floors out here leave much to be desired in terms of cleanliness.” 

There was something about the smug air in Loki’s tone that eased some of the tension out of Clint’s shoulders; the surreality of the God being bitchy about the state of the apartment hallway carpets had a settling effect. 

“Did you come here to talk to me about apartment renovations?” Clint choked out, backing away slightly from the door. 

“Hardly,” came Loki’s reply, and Clint wondered why he was being so patient, why he hadn’t simply magic-ed his way inside yet. His gut squirmed uncomfortably at the thought, and sweat prickled at his brow. “What I did come to discuss with you cannot be discussed effectively through a door however, I’m afraid.” 

Clint didn’t move. Loki didn’t speak. Minutes passed, and nothing happened aside from the sound of shuffling on the other side of Clint’s door. Adding together the logistics in his head, Clint figured that Loki had hung the takeout bag on the doorknob. 

“I’ll be leaving you, then. I suppose this all has been a shock; I will say, don’t be surprised when I return, because I will. The persistence, which I’ve been told is an obnoxious trait, was always all me, so I’ll be back, unless you tell me not to return, in which case I’ll find another way to say what I must. The control is yours, Agent Barton.”

With that sentiment, Clint heard Loki’s footsteps as they began to retreat down the apartment hall. Rather than feeling a decrease in his anxiety, however, Clint felt the pressure in his chest start to ratchet back up incrementally as the seconds ticked by, and the footsteps grew fainter. 

_All test results were within meaningful range to be comparable to the results of subjects 3517-537715 and 07147-845704, respectfully._

“ _The control is yours, Agent Barton._ ”

_I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of freezing._

_His eyes are green._

“Fuck, this is gonna be bad,” Clint whispered to himself, unlocking and opening the door. 

“Loki - wait.”


	2. Chapter 2

If anything, Loki’s patience with Clint was _fucking annoying._

After nearly ten minutes of Clint standing firm in his own doorway, unable to bring himself to step back to actually allow Loki into the apartment, their stalemate was starting to feel somewhat ridiculous. And yet Loki simply stood and waited, leaning against the wall across from where Clint stood, slightly off center; the idea that he was trying to leave a comfortable amount of space between them, the very idea that Loki was being _considerate_ was making Clint feel twitchy. 

“Your food must’ve grown cold by now,” Loki said eventually, looking unbothered with his hands clasped in front of him. “If you’re not going to invite me inside, and you’re not going to speak with me here, I’m not quite sure-”

“Goddammit, fine. Just-” Clint sniped, stepping into the hallway and gesturing into the apartment. The tactic seemed to throw Loki, an eyebrow quirking, but he nodded as he passed by Clint all the same and stepped over the threshold into Clint’s home. Clint held his breath as Loki stepped by, regardless of the wide berth that getting out of the doorway had allowed between them. He waited a beat before following, turned both hearing aids up to full volume, and once he finally did step inside his own apartment he instantly struggled to solidify the sight of the god standing in his open living room.

“Are you going to-” Loki started, gesturing toward the door.

“No. Door stays open,” Clint cut him off, food bag in hand as he side stepped his way into the kitchen to grab a plate and fork. He snatched them quickly from their respective homes in his cupboards, keeping the entryway to the kitchen in his periphery. The split second before he was ready to step back into the other room, the room where _that asshole_ was waiting, Clint stopped short. Hesitated. Turned around and grabbed a second set of dinnerware before he let himself think about every reason why it was the stupidest fucking thing he could do.

Clint did feel a touch better upon noticing just how uncomfortable Loki looked, standing stock still between Clint’s couch and coffee table. He didn’t seem to know what to do with his body or his eyes, which settled here and there for a few seconds at a time, only locking onto Clint when he became close enough to thrust the plate and fork into Loki’s unsuspecting hands. 

Clint could feel Loki’s gaping stare as he settled himself into the loveseat perpendicular to the couch, tossed the takeout bag and dinnerware on the table, and started unpacking the food. Clint didn’t say a word as he did so; _What the fuck am I supposed to say? Why the fuck did I even let him in? What does he **want**?_

“You would feed me?” Loki asked, and Clint held back the bitter laughter that wanted to escape his throat at the sound of _Loki_ being the one to sound suspicious. 

“I couldn’t care less if you eat or not,” Clint said, voice wavering but not near as badly as he felt it should be, given how he was feeling, given how his thoughts were racing, “but my Ma would turn in her grave if I didn’t offer.” Clint opened the container of rice and started to scoop it onto his plate, the smell of basmati hitting him and bringing back the slightest sense of hunger from before… well. 

Loki hummed, a bit of bristle leaving his stance. “I suppose I can understand the concept of familial pressures,” he said, setting the plate down on the edge of the table. He kept the fork in his hands, Clint noted. 

Loki cleared his throat. “I also know it doesn’t matter if they’re living or dead; their bloody values hang over us like gnats, regardless. Thank you, but I’m not hungry.” Loki motioned to the couch, and Clint opened up his chicken tikka masala, eyes not straying far from the utensil gripped in Loki’s hand. 

“May I?”

Clint nodded. “Yeah, I’d prefer it. You towerin’ over me isn’t exactly my preference.” The vulnerability slipped out with ease and Clint winced, hoping that Loki wouldn’t use the opportunity to take a jab or worse, take advantage. 

Rather, Loki simply sat down on Clint’s couch, fork in hand, and watched as Clint started to dig into his late-night uptown Indian takeout. 

_Of all of the weird futzing moments in my life, this might be the goddamn weirdest._

The silence stretched between them as Clint ate, and it was suffocating. Loki ran his thumb over the tines of the fork as Clint watched, not once meeting the archer’s eyes or opening his mouth to speak; the repetitive motion of pressing, dragging, repeating with the pad of his thumb over the metal felt intimately familiar to Clint in a way that took him a few minutes to place. 

“Why are _you_ nervous?” Clint asked, voice both louder and more accusatory than he had intended as it sliced through their extended pause. Loki’s hands stilled and his head tilted, green eyes unblinking from across the table. 

“I am not-”

“Don’t, with that. You came here to discuss something with me, then discuss it and do it without lying. I know anxiety when I see it, Loki. No thanks to you.”

Loki winced as though Clint had _slapped_ him, and in an instant Clint was no longer hungry. 

“Shit,” Clint slipped, the word a whisper. Icy tendrils of a feeling, foreign and wholly unwelcome, began to wrap around Clint’s spine. Realization, mixed with instant regret. The words of Loki’s psychological flitted around inside Clint’s head, and he bit down on his tongue hard enough in that moment to draw blood. 

“Well then,” Loki said slowly, drawn out. He leaned forward and set the fork down in the middle of the empty plate. “Perhaps not so difficult to see where my perceived anxieties lie, Agent Barton? After all, I’ve come to you with no ill will, and wielding no weapons, knowing full well how you’ve been spending your years hating me.” Loki hesitated, his head cocking to the side. “Fearing me.” 

A wave of defensiveness crested over Clint, his own fork hitting the plate in front of him. “Okay, first of all, don’t pretend to blame me for hating your guts, okay? As far as I’ve known, you were the one who - there’s no point in going over all the details, fuck, but you know what you made me do, so don’t pretend I didn’t have every damn right to think you were nothing but a fucking sleazeball. And secondly, wielding no weapons?” Clint snorted. “Please. I’m not as dumb as everyone would have you think, sorry. I haven’t forgotten that you’re a literal magic God who could probably crush me like an insect, or pull me apart from where you sit, or turn me into your own personal marionette if you _really wanted to_ -” 

The air was again starting to become thin. “Nope, fuck this, I am so goddamn _tired_ of this shit!” Clint exclaimed, bringing his hands to his face, burying his eyes behind them. “Will you please, _please_ just tell me whatever it is you needed to tell me and leave?”

“Do not be afraid.”

Clint laughed, a wet and strangled sound. “Not helping, not gonna help, my therapist could tell you that. I’ll be fine, just cut to the cha-”

“That’s what I’ve come to tell you, Agent. Do not be afraid. You have nothing to fear, from me, nor from our… handler. My dear brother and I have ensured of his disposal.”

Clint drew in a sharp breath at Loki’s description of… whoever it was he was talking about. ‘Our handler.’ Their shared handler. Because Loki, the God in his apartment, sitting on his couch, had also had his mind molded like putty, if the report was to be trusted. Threat Level 0. 

Clint spread his fingers apart to sneak a look at Loki, who sat stock still just as he had been a moment before, gazing at Clint as though concerned. When Clint didn’t say anything and just sat, stared, and focused on breathing for a few long beats, Loki eventually folded and sighed. 

“I don’t remember you being this quiet,” he muttered, and something about that struck Clint as being funny. “While you’re over there doing whatever it is that you’re doing, absorbing I suppose, I will say that I appreciate your respect for my magic. Others oft forget, it seems, that I don’t require weapons or suits to benefit my odds.” Loki’s eyes sparkled, and Clint felt a twitch of recognition in the back of his mind; _there’s this little fucker’s mischievousness, after all_. 

“Not that I’ll use it here, for anything untoward of course,” Loki continued quickly. Clint dropped his hands from his face to his knees, trying to follow along with whatever it was Loki was trying to get across. Loki himself seemed frustrated, brows furrowing. “I do believe I’m trying to agree with you, Agent. You’re smarter than most credit you for, but it is not my intention to use my abilities to do you harm. It never has been.” 

“Who.” Clint managed the word, not as a question, but it didn’t need to be. 

“His name was Thanos. He was a plague on the Universe, with intent to decimate life on a scale that is still unfathomable to me, even now.” Loki stopped talking and Clint thought he was finished, confident enough in his assertion to begin asking a follow up question. 

“Why did he-”

“It was my fault in a way, regardless.” When it was evident that Clint was going to remain quiet, Loki nodded once in thanks, and continued. “I was hungry for power, that much was true. I turned to the Other in the hopes that I could be helped in my venture to escape Asgard, escape from my Father’s rule and my brother’s shadow. It is how I was led to Thanos, how I became susceptible to the control of the Mind stone.” Loki zeroed in on Clint with intent. 

“It’s how I led him to control you, through me. If I have anything to apologize for, I suppose I should apologize for igniting the flame of chaos, and that is something I do regret.” 

Clint’s chest was going to crack open with how much it _ached._

“I’ve dreamed this before, you know,” he said, completely unplanned, surprising himself more than Loki. “Yep. Dreamed about you, apologizing, saying you're sorry for being a fucking asshole and making me kill my friends, good people with families and dreams and dogs. I’ve dreamed about you grovelling, even dreamed about hurting you a time or two.” The pain in Clint’s chest throbbed as he spoke, ebbing and flowing as it beat, staccato in his ears. “This? This is a lot different.” 

“I will not apologize for that which I’m not responsible for, Barton, and I certainly won’t grovel over the actions of others,” Loki said, his tone warning, and Clint found the corners of his lips upturning. 

“That’s… reassuring. That sounds like you, like the bastard Thor has always made you seem to be. Don’t look like that; would you rather come off like a bastard, or a mass murderer?” Clint asked, something about Loki being challenging providing a modicum of comfort. 

“If I am allowed a preference of neither?” Loki responded, and the slight upturn of Clint’s lips grew into a damn-near smile, the tension in his chest easing slightly. 

“So. You’re sorry for being a selfish prick, you and Thor killed the lunatic who took advantage of the fact that you were a selfish prick and fucked with our heads, and you came here to let me know that he’s dead and gone and you’re a peaceful zen master who means no harm? Am I getting the gist of all of this?” Clint asked, leaning backward until his shoulders hit the back of the loveseat. 

Loki, appearing somewhat bemused, opened and closed his mouth a time or two. “In essence, yes, unless I’m misinterpreting what you mean by ‘zen master’? I mean you no harm, or Midgardians in general, though as you so pointed out earlier, I am still who I am.”’

Clint regarded him, this God in a pair of jeans and a sweater, looking out of place on his tattered apartment couch. “Who are you, then, if not the fucking monster you’ve been in my head all this time?

It was in that moment, with those words leaving Clint’s mouth, when Loki finally looked truly distressed. It was but a mere flash across his features; Clint had said something that _hurt_ him, and it took no time at all for Clint to know that he hadn’t intended to do so. 

“I’m… I’m Loki Laufeyson of Jotunheim. Also Odinson and son of Freya of Asgard, brother of Thor, God of Mischief, Hand to the King of New Asgard. I am a trickster-” Clint snorted at this, and Loki himself even cracked a small smile, “- and I am trying to adjust to life on Midgard.”

Clint nodded his head. “Okay. Fuck. Okay. That… there was a lot there that I won’t even pretend to understand, but I get the gist. Was this little visit part of you trying? Like part of a 12-step program of sorts?” At the utterly confused look on Loki’s face, Clint waved his hands in the air. “Nevermind. Are you making amends, I guess, so that you’re more comfortable sharing the planet with us plebeians?” 

Loki thought on it for a moment before raising one shoulder in a noncommittal shrug. “I suppose I really only felt the need to make amends with you. I have been… aware of your suffering after our time together. Trickster or bastard as I may be, I don’t engage in celebration over needless suffering, therefore.” Loki opened his palms and spread out his hands in an encompassing gesture. “Here I am.” 

_Fuck me, I believe him._

Clint knew that he would be checking in with Hill and Thor immediately upon Loki’s departure, but his training was not finding anything worthy of tripping his bullshit detectors thus far. That in and of itself was unsettling, regardless of the creeping feeling of peace chasing away the remaining pressure that had been weighing on him from outside and within starting the moment he had opened the door to Loki nearly an hour ago. 

“Well,” Clint said, debating on his next words, wanting to choose carefully. “I appreciate it. My head has been so fucked for so long that frankly, I don’t know what it’s gonna look like or how long it’s gonna take for this to all sink in, but I think… I know it’ll be for the best. So, you know.” Clint swallowed. “Thank you.”

Loki exhaled, and it was with such force that Clint knew he had been holding a breath. Clint laughed a bit. 

“What, did you think I was gonna shoot you?”

Loki glared. “Was it really so far out of the realm of possibility?”

Clint shrugged and started gathering the plates and the leftovers from the table as he stood from the loveseat. “I guess that’s a good point. You’re always magic-y, and I’m always assassin-y, so. Touche, and all that.” 

Much to Clint’s relief, Loki at least knew enough about human custom and politeness that he stood and followed Clint when he took everything to the kitchen, and also took it upon himself to not crowd Clint in his small kitchen space, either. Loki was standing awkwardly, yet not looking nearly as uncomfortable as before, in Clint’s still-open doorway when he stepped back out from the kitchen. 

“I suppose that’s all you had for me, then. Uh, enjoy Earth? If you like coffee, don’t go to Starbucks,” Clint said, exhaustion starting to settle in behind his eyelids rapidly as his adrenaline had fully crashed. 

Loki’s lips twitched. “Aah, if only I had endeavored to contact you sooner, you would have saved me six dollars. I shall have to live with the regret.” He turned as if to leave and then paused as if to stay, turning to speak to Clint over his shoulder. “Should you wish to get out of this building of yours, you’ll find my contact information in your phone. I urge you not to be hesitant to use it, night or day, though I understand why you might be. I know what it’s like to be held captive in one space, and I don’t wish it on you.”

Clint’s left hand flew to his left pocket for an instant phone check and, sure enough, his phone remained firmly there, as was standard. 

“Uh. First of all, there’s no way in fuck that you got your hands on my phone, and secondly, ask Thor to explain to you what house arrest means. I don’t wear this-” Clint pulled up the cuff of his sweats to show his blinking-green ankle monitor, “- because it’s fashionable.” 

Loki flashed Clint a smirk that was partly sweet, and partly exasperated. 

“First and second, Agent Barton, has it been brought to your attention that I’m skilled in the art of magic?”

With that Loki turned and walked out of Clint’s apartment, closing the door behind him. While Clint expected at least some anxiety to creep back in, he mainly felt exhausted, shock-numbed, slightly aggravated at Loki’s cockiness, and determined to verify that Loki’s psychological checked out with Hill and also that his story about Thanos checked out with Thor.

He had both done within the hour, and Clint slept better that night than he had in at least six years. Dreamless, no nightmares, no sweating, no restlessness. 

*

Two weeks passed before he finally gave in and sent Loki a text. 

**C. Barton**  
Are you still feeling generous with your sorcery? Feel like helping a trapped bird fly free?

_L. Laufeyson_  
I will be there in an hour. Please don’t make me wait in the hallway this time. And if you insist on doing so, have the carpets cleaned before I arrive.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, it's been a minute. My bad. Have a longer-than-usual chapter?
> 
> On the plus side, I absolutely adored writing this chapter. I hope it shows!
> 
> This fic is completely unbeta'd by the way, so every lil mistake belongs to me and my 1:00 am brain. Also, Loki would totally use commas while texting. Fight me.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> -EP

“To do this properly, I _am_ going to have to touch you.”

Clint was fairly certain that Loki had spoken at least two minutes ago, yet he couldn’t bring himself to do anything other than stare blankly at the black-haired god leaning against his living room wall, trying to look bored and failing spectacularly. No, as Clint had mentioned to Loki a few weeks prior, he damn well knew what nerves looked like.

“Uh,” Clint finally managed. Loki blinked before raising an expectant eyebrow.

“Is there a way to do this _improperly_?”

Surprisingly, rather than slipping directly into being offended, as Clint figured would be his own reaction, Loki let out an amused laugh. 

“While that sounds like it might be fun in its own right, perhaps not for this particular endeavor, Agent Barton. I have to touch you in order to transfer an exact copy of your vitals to the replica, or else whoever is on the other side of that lovely monitor is going to be able to pick up on the fact that your activity level, your pulse, what have you, has changed, and drastically. We can simply cast my vitals and activity patterns onto the replica, of course; that _would_ be rather improper, and also very inhuman. It’s left to your discretion.” 

Loki spread his hands open in front of him as if to present his options, a twinkle in his eyes, and Clint groaned.

“Fuckin’ fine. You try anything and Lucky’ll tear your throat out.”

Loki tutted as he kicked away from the wall in order to walk toward where Clint was sitting in his chair. “So hostile. I know it will take time to break your previous … associations that you’ve held toward me, but in the name of the Allfather, must you be so pessimistic? I’ve come to help you, not to harm you.”

Clint did his best to absorb the words as they were spoken, and kept his eyes focused on the shining green iris’ of Loki’s own as he stepped nearly completely into Clint’s space. Breathing deeply, Clint was purposeful in holding steady when Loki crouched down, settling onto his knees in front of Clint’s chair. 

“Have you anything to wrap the monitor around? Nothing fancy is necessary, just something solid and not too - aah, yes, that will do.” Loki took the flashlight from Clint’s hand, not questioning why Clint had a flashlight tucked into the chair cushion (which, honestly, Clint was grateful for. He did not want to explain irrational PTSD comforts to the man … god … person to whom he had previously assigned as being responsible for stated PTSD.)

“If you could prop up the ankle with the bracelet - is that correct? I swear brother mine referred to it as such, but it is not by any means resembling jewelry - any matter, if you could put it on the table. I will be wrapping a hand around the top of your foot, where it meets your ankle, and leaving it there for a stretch of time, until I feel as though the data has been transferred appropriately. Do you understand, or do I have a mutt to fear?”

Clint snorted at that, and Loki’s lips ticked up in the corners, seemingly satisfied with Clint’s response. Loki stood the flashlight up on the coffee table and wrapped one hand around its base, bringing his other hand up, blank palm facing Clint. 

“Agent-”

“For fuck’s sake, Loki, get it over with. And I don’t work for you, so call me Clint.”

The slight upturn of Loki’s lips blossomed into a bright and somewhat surprised smile, the sight of it and the strange sound of “Well then, Clint,” spilling forth from Loki’s mouth serving as complete distractions from the fact that Loki’s free hand had settled around his ankle. By the time Clint noticed, Loki’s fingers were planted firmly enough that Clint could feel his own pulse beating beneath the other man’s fingers. Loki’s skin was warm; Clint had expected his touch to be cold. Clint snapped his gaze from that smile upward, green eyes still trained on his own, and he felt more of his reservations slip and slide away, fizzling into nothingness (or perhaps being absorbed into the chair. It was a good chair.). 

“Would you care to see a magic trick?” Loki asked after a few moments. Clint blinked. 

“Uh. That sounds sinister, but also, maybe?”

“Hmm,” Loki hummed, and then his hand was gone from Clint’s ankle; ah. There was the coldness, in the absence of touch. 

Loki motioned toward the flashlight on the table as he stood, as though displaying something to be admired. “I believe the expression would be ‘ta-da’?”

It only took a split second for Clint to react, his own hand making its way to his ankle in response, hand smacking against smooth, blank flesh and bone. 

“How in the actual fucking…” Clint said, unable to keep the impressed awe from his voice as he stood and leaned over the flashlight on the table, staring at the ankle monitor that rested snugly against the base, wrapped around and bound, green light steady and unblinking. “I didn’t even get to see the magic trick!” 

Loki rolled his eyes at Clint’s whining. “If I promise that it was very quick and rather boring would it make you feel better?”

Clint thought a moment before shrugging, before feeling his own mouth spread into a wide grin. 

“Honestly, I don’t know if it would make me feel better; I can leave this apartment? I can leave this apartment! That feels...fuckin’ a, dude. That feels great!”

Clint spun around, zeroing in on his shoes by the front door, mind racing a mile a minute as he thought about where he wanted to go and what he wanted to do first. He nearly missed Loki’s grumbling, something about ‘not a dude,’ in his hurry to bounce out of the building as quickly as possible. 

“Are you truly expecting to just...waltz out of your building, free to do as you please and completely undetected? The last I was aware, Agen- Clint, you were a preposterously well known hero on this planet. Will it not be noticed that you’re out and about far earlier than your planned release?” 

Clint stood up straight from where he had been bent over to tie his shoes, his internal groan escaping his throat. Loki was standing behind him, arms crossed over his chest. 

“...dammit. Yeah, that… that would look bad. I, uh.” Clint rubbed the back of his neck, trying to figure out if it would make him stand out more or less if he wore some kind of face covering. Struck with sudden annoyance, he trained his gaze on Loki. “Hey! Why didn’t you mention this earlier, when you were bein’ all nice and offering favors and shit? You got me this far, anything you can do to, I dunno, make me invisible?”

Loki stared at him crookedly. Blinked a few times. 

“What?” Clint asked.

“I suppose I thought it would take much more than this to gain your favor,” Loki said slowly, taking a step forward. Clint leaned back, hackles rising. 

“Ha, that? That’s pushing it a bit. Tentative trust in the thought that you’re not going to enslave me and make me kill people? Maybe. My _favor_? Natasha barely has that, pal.” Clint found himself sounding defensive, found that he didn’t like how easily Loki had gotten him there. 

Loki tsked, raising his hand and taking another step forward. Without preamble his palm was in Clint’s view as though Loki meant to facepalm him, strikingly fast; before Clint could neutralize the threat, Loki dropped his hand downward, a spark or two springing from his fingertips, prior to flicking his wrist with a flourish at Clint’s midline and promptly stepping backward, arm dropping to his side. 

Sweat beaded at Clint’s hairline, and he sucked in a startled breath. While … whatever the fuck that had been, had only taken a second at most, Clint felt as though he had just been terrified for an eternity. And yet? Nothing felt different. Loki hadn’t even _touched_ him. 

“What the fuck was that?” Clint demanded. 

Loki’s eyes roved over Clint’s face for a few moments, assessing before he spoke. “Not what I would call my best work, but I may dare say that _that_ was a step in the direction of gaining your favor. Have you a mirror?”

Clint, not being an idiot, pieced it together in an instant. “Did you glamour me?” He pushed past Loki without waiting for an answer, heading down the short hallway and into the bathroom. He trained his eyes on the mirror before turning on the light; bracing himself, he flicked the switch.

“Uh...yeah. Really not your best work, there.” Clint said, surprised at how disappointed he felt. Sure, there were a few differences in his appearance; his hair looked a bit darker and the shape of his eyes was slightly off somehow, as well as the size of his lips. But he was still very clearly Clint Barton. 

“Yes, well,” Loki spoke, approaching from the hallway, “if you would be patient.”

Clint’s disappointment blossomed into curiosity and then puzzled awe as he continued to watch himself in the reflective surface of the mirror. His hair continued to darken until it was nearly chestnut brown, and it lengthened as well into something floppy and shaggy. His blue eyes dulled into a sludgy brown as well and his nose crooked left, complimenting his now elongated chin. The effects grew more pronounced until they _didn’t_ and Clint was left staring at a stranger with a slight resemblance to his older brother. 

“Holy shit.”

“Hmm. You were saying?” Loki said, his look smug as he leaned against the doorway when Clint met his eyes in the mirror. 

“It must’ve, what, taken a minute to stick?” Clint asked, watching as he tried to push the hair back from his forehead, his hand slipping through the glamour without moving a strand out of place. 

“Not quite. It’s a finicky magic, touchy. Unlike simple data transference, something as delicate as this requires … proximity to the source.”

Clint turned, cocking an eyebrow in Loki’s direction. He wondered if it showed. 

“You mean you’ve gotta be close by for it to work?”

Loki did something with his mouth; Clint figured it was supposed to be a somewhat apologetic smile, but looked much more like a hesitant grimace. 

“To answer your question from before, I hadn’t parsed out your next move once you were free to leave your shoebox. This is the best that I can think to do to help you go unnoticed, but yes. You’ll have to … cope with having me near, or rely on your own stealth.” Loki paused, thinking. “Which, from what I’ve gathered, may be a near match.” 

Clint flexed his hands at his sides and breathed through his nose, a mental ping-pong ball flinging itself back and forth within the recesses of his mind as he debated. 

“How the fuck is it that you’ll be the one walking the streets or into the store or the damn cafe, free as yourself, while I’m the one who has to be disguised because I’m the fucking criminal?” Clint asked after a time, his way of acquiescing. He stepped past Loki and the near sympathetic look that the god gave him in response, grabbed his keys and wallet from the table, and opened the front door. 

“Fine, but I’m not buying your coffee.”

*

Clint did, however, buy Loki an ice cream cone. 

He didn’t have a choice, really. Clint was in the best mood that he’d been in for _years_ , after all; the people he cared about were safe (some of them on house arrest, but that was whatever), he was finally breathing fresh, non-circulated air and feeling sunshine on his skin after months of being in the apartment building, the monster who he had been having nightmares about for years turned out to be a run of the mill asshole instead, the _actual_ monster who had made him into a weapon was dead and gone, and he had just learned that ice cream wasn’t _a thing_ on Asgard. 

It was the first tidbit of information that Loki had shared with him since leaving the apartment building an hour before; he had chosen to keep quiet and simply follow Clint around, which was fine by Clint, for the most part. Time zipped by him as he hit up his favorite spots; the cafe down the street for his favorite black brew, the corner store to buy those Korean chips that he really liked, down the street and through the back alleys to be sure that the strays were doing okay on the scraps that the diners tossed to the side of the dumpsters.

Loki had remained close, just slightly behind Clint the entire way, head bowed and hair tucked behind his ears as though he, too, was trying to avoid recognition. Which, okay, Clint hadn’t realized when he had made his earlier comment that Loki likely wouldn’t be too thrilled to be called out on Earth either, nevermind on the streets of New York. Not everyone would take too kindly to seeing the foreign entity that they associated with the attack on their city meandering around within their ranks, would they?

The realization made something click into place for Clint; another tally added to the small collection of them in favor of trusting Loki, and since when had he started collecting marks?

Clint had to push the thought aside to play catch-up to their conversation, which had been kick-started by the loud groan of appreciation that had escaped from Clint’s throat at the sight of his favorite ice-cream stand open for business in the far corner of the park. Clint hadn’t intended to lead them there; after checking in on the strays, he had simply strayed himself, enjoying the feeling of stretching his legs. But there they were, ice cream in Clint’s periphery, inappropriate noises making themselves known and finally breaking Loki’s silence. 

“Are you having some kind of fit?”

Clint snorted. “Rude. No, but you’re about to be. Are you ready to have the best ice cream of your ridiculously long life?” Clint paused. “It literally just occurred to me that I don’t know how old you are.” 

Loki pulled a face. “I am old enough to know that _that_ ,” he nodded toward the bright display of ice cream a few feet away, “does not look like something I would enjoy. It looks like some concoction for children? I do not recall seeing anything of the like on Asgard.”

“Okay, but you’ve been on Earth for how long, exactly? I watched you order an Americano at the cafe, don’t tell me you haven’t acclimated enough to know about fucking ice cream because I will call you on your bullshit so fast.” Clint stared at Loki who was looking at him with disdain, as though Clint were gum on the bottom of his ridiculously fancy shoe, and really, who the hell wore cap toe shoes to walk around the city, let alone with pants that tight?

“And who taught you how to dress?” Clint bit out, and nearly laughed when Loki’s look of disdain morphed into a mess of confusion and offense. Ignoring the scoff that followed, Clint turned back around, stepped up to the ice cream cart in front of them and pulled out his wallet. 

After some debate, Clint got two double-scoops, one with vanilla and strawberry and the other with mint chocolate chip and cookie dough. Loki begrudgingly followed him and accepted the first cone as it was thrust into his hands, and Clint wondered how long it would take before Loki said ‘fuck it’ and abandoned Clint’s un-glamoured ass in the middle of the city. 

He found himself appreciating the fact that Loki hadn’t done so already. He was grateful, and more than slightly suspicious. 

“If you don’t like those flavors, we can swap,” Clint said happily, taking a long lick up the side of his own cone, endorphins rushing at the burst of sweetness on his tongue. “I figured those flavors would be fine for your virgin sensibilities. Or, I guess on the flipside, your old man tastes.”

“You’re impossible,” Loki said flatly, and when Clint turned to the side to look at him he was staring at the cone in his hand as though figuring out a plan of attack, looking every bit like he was longing for a spoon. 

“Yeah. It’s part of my charm.”

“Whoever told you that was being dishonest,” Loki said, before bringing the cone to his lips and taking a _bite_. 

Clint squirmed. “Oh my god. I take it back. You really are a sociopath. You don’t bite it, you masochist, you lick the damn thing.” 

Loki’s tongue flicked out to clean his lips and he looked … thoughtful. “This is … not horrible.”

Clint grinned. “Ha! Well well well, would you look at that. He likes it.” 

Loki didn’t dignify Clint’s childishness with a response, choosing instead to lead them ahead as he started to properly devour his ice cream like a normal person. Clint hung back for a moment to take a breath, to ground himself in his reality. It was something that he’d expected he would’ve had to do plenty more than he had; never in any infinite possible number of universes was he supposed to have wound up eating treats in a park with fucking _Loki_ , let alone finding himself _enjoying_ it.

And yet.

“Are you coming or are you just planning on standing there and allowing yourself to unravel by the second?” Loki called back, and _shit_ , that asshole really would just leave him un-glamoured, wouldn’t he?

“Well wait up, out-of-towner, you don’t even know where you’re going, Christ-”

*

As it would turn out, Loki knew exactly where he was going, because Loki fucking lived near the intersection of Lewis and Hart. 

“No, you can’t, though,” Clint said, feeling his eyes practically popping from his skull as Loki shot him his millionth version of an ‘exasperated look’ of the day. 

“I fail to see exactly why not. Also, you missed it again.”

Clint’s eyes left Loki’s face and went back down to his ankle, where his monitor was again snapped firmly in place, the green light having never even blinked. 

“Aw, magic.” Clint shook his head. “But, anyway, no. It’s just weird. Isn’t it weird? Why the hell would you live in Brooklyn? Why don’t you live in New Asgard? Didn’t you say you were like, the fucking vice King or some … what did you spew off to me when you first came barraging in here talking at me that day-”

“I’m the Hand to the King, and I hardly barraged-”

“How can you be the anything if you don’t live there?” Clint interrupted, volume rising. 

“Why does this upset you so?” Loki asked, standing over Clint where Clint sat in his chair in his living room. Clint opened his mouth to respond, only to close it a moment later when he realized that he wasn’t sure, himself. 

Loki sighed and ran a hand through his hair, catching light in the strands. Christ, had Clint ever seen hair so black before? It was _distracting_.

“I had thought that our time together today was amenable,” Loki said, not meeting Clint’s eye. “Yet even the mere thought of me existing in your neighborhood unsettles you. I had assumed too much.” Loki turned to leave, his long strides getting him to the front door in no time. 

“It unsettles me because I didn’t know!” Clint said, standing in place, unable to bring himself to follow Loki to the door. Luckily, Loki turned to look at him, allowing him to continue. 

“I don’t even know how long you’ve been living five fucking minutes away from me, and you were the thing I feared the most for fucking years, Loki. Don’t - don’t look like that, that’s not fair, I know shit now that I didn’t know a few weeks ago. So yeah, it’s unsettling to think that my greatest goddamn boogeyman was right under my nose and I didn’t even know it. How am I supposed to feel about that? It’s my job to know when there's a threat around, you know? And I didn’t.”

“Because there _wasn’t_ one,” Loki hissed through his teeth, and the force of it startled Clint enough to cause him to jerk back. Silence, thick and heavy, fell around them, and Clint’s mind raced, trying to puzzle together how they had gone from eating ice cream in the park to _here_. 

“I hope you enjoyed your day of freedom, Agent Barton. Sleep well.”

Loki was gone before Clint could ask him to stay, and the walls of the apartment felt more oppressive that night than any of the nights prior. 

Clint felt judged as the hours ticked by; judged by Loki, by himself, even by Lucky, who, sure, Clint rationally knew was sleeping on the floor instead of in the bed because Clint wouldn’t stop tossing and turning, but it was still shitty and it still made Clint feel like an asshole who deserved to be _judged_.

Loki was trying. For whatever fucking reason, Loki was _trying_ with Clint, and he was under no obligation to do so. The guy wasn’t completely innocent of being in the wrong (were any of them?), but he was doing his best to make amends and Clint had snapped at him for absolutely no reason.

Aw, fucking guilt, _no_. 

**C. Barton**  
Apologies are not part of my charm. I’m sorry for being a dick

 **C. Barton**  
Thank you for helping me get out. And for going with me

 **C. Barton**  
And not just for the real life stealth mode trick either. I had a good time with you

 **C. Barton**  
Me a month ago would kick my ass for saying this, but it might not be so bad having you live close. Sometimes I have a mobster problem and you could probs be real handy with that

 **C. Barton**  
And also because it might be fun to annoy you sometimes

 **C. Barton**  
Right now is probs not a fun time to annoy you. Sorry for blowing up your phone at 4 am. Bye

 _L. Laufeyson_  
New Asgard has established herself and her people on a small piece of land in Norway. It is very beautiful. When the sun is just right, the water sparkles and it is very, very blue.

 _L. Laufeyson_  
It is just the right kind of blue that makes it hard to breathe. I have not lived over 1,000 years to die clutching my chest in fear over a body of water. And so, Brooklyn, because I owe her much.

 _L. Laufeyson_  
Perhaps someday soon you can see how I spend my days in this city, if you are so inclined.

 **C. Barton**  
I am

 **C. Barton**  
And it is fucked up how much I understand you right now

 **C. Barton**  
Thanks. Sorry for making you explain

 _L. Laufeyson_  
You may have spoken too soon about apologizing not being part of your charm. However, it is at this point unnecessary. Go to sleep, Clint.

 **C. Barton**  
Yep


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is...a very long chapter. I could have broken it up, but didn't want to *shrug*
> 
> Also, there's a chapter count now! Which means there's an outline. Huzzah!
> 
> This fic continues to be un-beta'd, so all of the inevitable errors and clumsy word choices continue to be mine all mine.
> 
> I hope you enjoy :) I'm having fun with these two.
> 
> -EP

“You’re absolutely sure about this?” Loki asked, for what must have been the fifth time in the ten minutes since he’d arrived at Clint’s apartment.

Clint did his best to muster up his most threatening glare as he closed the apartment door and locked it behind him; Loki didn’t look impressed. Rather than taking it as a kick to his ego, Clint decided that his glamoured self must not look as threatening as his usual self. _Yeah, that’s it._

“Oh, no, look at that, I already locked the door. It’s too late now. Not to mention that you already did the magic – which you were right, actually _was_ super boring – but I’ve already told you seven futzing times that this is how I want to spend my day so can we just,” Clint threw his hands into the air, “I dunno, go sleaze around Wall Street or sell Rolls Royces or whatever it is that you do on the daily to afford rent in Brooklyn? Christ, what happened to you being an all out asshole, man? I’m fine, this is fine, I’m starting to believe that you’re not going to murder me so can you just… not treat me like a vase, or whatever snooty thing you guys kept flowers in on Asgard?” When Clint was finished with his rant, he felt out of breath and could tell that his cheeks were hot and flushed.

Loki simply raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side. “What in the bloody hell is a Rolls Roy-“

“OH MY GOD can we please just go?!”

*

Whatever it was that Clint had been expecting, it most definitely wasn’t _this_.

In fact, Clint really hadn’t known what to expect at all. He had surprised himself by reaching out to Loki a few days after their first stint outside of Clint’s apartment, asking to take Loki up on his offer to see how the god spent his days around the city. He had wanted to call him the morning after, had decided that it would be _impulsive, Clint, and probably a bit fucking creepy, you stalker_ , but hadn’t been able to last the full week like he had intended.

Clint insisted to himself that it was because he was bored, even though both Nat and Kate had come to visit him in the interim. When his inner-dialogue suggested that it was because he wanted to simply spend more time with Loki, he promptly told himself to _shut up, thanks, bye._ Because while Clint recognized that it would likely be a good thing to continue desensitizing himself and his trauma reactions (oh, wouldn’t his therapist just LOVE to know what was happening?), he also wondered if what he was doing was healthy or not. 

Latching onto Loki, reaching out to him, seeing him as a beacon of freedom or some bullshit parallel to that; bonding with him over what Clint was starting to recognize was a shared trauma, to some extent, even though Loki had gotten the ball rolling with his selfishness and power-hungry ways, so he was still a bit to blame… wasn’t he?

Spending years in therapy did not a therapist make, that was for certain. 

Clint pushed aside the warring thoughts in his mind that had re-emerged when he followed Loki into the community center, trying not to feel like he was engaging in an undercover mission regardless of the knowledge that he wasn’t the only one operating under a glamour this time around. He was impressed with Loki’s ability to duplicate his glamour from before, but damn near blown away by the careful subtleties that Loki had crafted into his own; Clint could still see the god when he looked for him. He could read the cocky pull of Loki’s smile and the crinkle in the corners of his eyes remained much the same, as well as the color of his hair, even if it did present itself as being much shorter and differently fashioned. Loki’s green eyes had dulled to a much plainer brown, and his face appeared more full, but he was still mostly Loki in Clint’s eyes. 

Clint wondered if he was still himself in Loki’s. He would make it a point to ask. 

Nobody else seemed to bat an eye at Loki as they walked through the community center, Loki striding past the welcome desk with nothing more than a smile at the receptionist. Clint nodded in her direction and stayed close to Loki’s side. 

“This is where you come? Why, you like the pool, or what?”

Loki shot Clint a bored side-eye. “Really, and you’re supposed to be a successful agent? This is where I work, Cl… what is it that I should call you? You will no doubt need to be introduced if you’re to be my shadow for a day.”

Clint didn’t hesitate. “Chris.”

Loki hummed. “Any particular reason?”

“Short, common, same amount of letters and starts with a C. It’ll be hard for either of us to fuck up, I promise. What’s your name?”

A flicker of a smile on Loki’s mouth. “Steve.”

Clint tripped over nothing and tensed his body for impact, gracious for Loki’s quick reflexes when he found himself grasped by his upper arm rather than acquainted with the floor. 

“Fuck, thanks,” Clint said. Loki squeezed his arm lightly before letting go and leading them through a set of double doors and into another hallway. “But seriously, _Steve_? You did that shit on purpose!”

“Ah, so you do have deductive skills after all,” Loki snarked.

Clint scoffed. “Excuse you, but why would I assume that you work in the community center? Isn’t this where, I don’t know, underprivileged kids come after school to play basketball or people come to learn braille or sign up for food stamps?” He nearly crashed into Loki’s back when they came to a sudden stop in front of a door at the end of the hallway. Loki pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and, after a moment of fumbling, unlocked the door before pulling it open.

“Well,” Loki responded, flicking on the lights and stepping inside, “yes, _Chris_ , those are a few things that happen here, as well as other programs.”

Clint stood in the doorway of the small room and watched as Loki made himself comfortable in what was evidently his office. The office was cramped, and Clint found that to be a generous description. There was barely enough space for the small desk and desk chair, a filing cabinet, and two metal folding chairs. There were no decorations on the painted cinderblock walls, no windows, no clock. Other than two neat stacks of papers, a random assortment of office supplies and a telephone, Loki’s desk was bare, until he pulled out a sleek looking laptop from his leather briefcase that he had carried with them during the commute to the office.

“Holy fuck,” Clint whispered, too shocked, jubilant and confused to raise his voice. “You’re a _public servant_? A _paper pusher_? A… a… _desk jockey_?”

“I’m a volunteer coordinator, you imbecile. And a peer group leader a few days a week.” Something flashed in Loki’s eyes; it took all of a second for Clint to recognize it as anger, easy to read in spite of the glamour.

“Is there anything that I could have done for a living that would have met your expectations of me? Is there anything short of rotting away in a prison cell that I could be doing every day to make up for my mistake of seeking power? To taunt me for earning an honest living trying to _help_ others seems as though it would be beneath even you, _cretin_.”

Fury and shame shot through Clint like lightning, intermingling and hammering into his gut so quickly that a wave of nausea came along with it. “Well, shit, okay, so maybe it was my bad to be so judgy, but you sure reverted back to the ‘insulting humans as lesser beings’ default pretty damn quick, didn’t you?”

The moment the words left Clint’s mouth he regretted them, and wanted to swallow them back inside. A gust of breath left Loki’s lungs, followed by a short burst of laughter. 

“I hardly think of you as a stand-in for all of humanity. Behave as a cretin and I will accuse you of being such. Gods, I cannot believe I-”

“Steve, good morning!” 

Clint, to his own credit, didn’t flinch at the chipper voice that came from behind him. He had been all too aware that someone had been approaching from the hallway, but too invested in hearing what Loki’d had to say to stop the god from spouting onward. He inwardly cursed at the woman’s timing before remembering that he was in Loki’s place of employment ( _so. fucking. weird._ ) and stepping further into Loki’s office, slumping into one of the metal chairs to allow the woman into the room.

Loki’s face transformed immediately into something bright and carefree, and Clint was reminded all too well who he was dealing with; regardless of changed intentions or well-meaning, the trickster would always be just that. Oddly, something loosened in Clint’s chest at the recognition, and tension eased from his shoulders. 

“Good morning, Bridgette! Bridgette, this is a friend of mine from out of town. Chris, this is Bridgette. She’s the group team supervisor here, and a good friend.” Loki grinned and winked.

Clint raised an eyebrow at that, and leaned back to extend a hand to Bridgette who was, just as he’d expected, blushing and a bit flustered, her golden curls bouncing across her shoulders as she shook her head and batted her long eyelashes over her bright blue eyes. She took his hand in a firm handshake.

“Oh! Hi, hello! It’s nice to meet you, Chris! Any friend of Steve’s is welcome. What brings you to town?” Her nails were painted a deep purple, and were chipped. She was welcoming and kind, petite and pretty and a bit out of sorts. Clint could tell that her socks were a near match but not perfect, and she was missing an earring in one ear. He liked her instantly and could tell that it would be difficult for someone to dislike her.

Clint didn’t like the thought of _Loki_ liking her, and felt flooded with a strange, inappropriate sense of defensiveness that left him suddenly reeling.

“Pleasure. Uhh, just visiting for…” Clint paused, at a loss, which in itself was an indicator that he was _compromised_. “...family. Visiting family. Speaking of which, I have a call to make.” Clint stood abruptly and let go of Bridgette’s hand, squeezing past her in the slim doorway. “I’ll let you two talk… community center… things? Yep.”

Clint walked down the hallway, unsure of where exactly he was going, until he wound up all but barreling through the exit doors at the back of the building. Relieved to find himself in a very-obviously beginner’s garden area, Clint leaned against the building and started to count the rows of mounded dirt; seventeen sprouting, eight yet to do so. He counted them again, from twenty-five down to zero, and back upward again to twenty-five. Repeated the sequence over and again until his heart relaxed to normal and the strange, twisty feeling of _envy_ receded away into nothingness.

Five or twenty minutes passed (who was counting? Oh, right) before the door opened and Loki stepped through, face passive but not enough to hide a minuscule twinge of relief when his eyes fell on Clint where he leaned against the brick of the building. Loki joined him, leaning close enough that their shoulders brushed. Neither of them moved away. 

“Anyone could have walked out here and recognized you,” Loki said quietly. Clint winced; he had completely forgotten about the glamour. 

He shrugged. “Guess I got lucky.”

“Hmm,” Loki said, using his hand as a visor to shield the sun from his eyes as he surveyed the garden. “Kindergartners planted these vegetables, you know, and with very little instruction. It’s nearly a miracle. I never knew how to grow anything on Asgard.”

Clint thought for a moment. “Yeah, well. When you’re a kid of royalty I bet you don’t have to know how to do lots of things.” He heard the judgement in his words and growled. “Fuck! I don’t know why I’m being such a prick. I’m not doing it on purpose.” Clint turned his head to the side; Loki’s gaze was now focused steadfastly on him rather than on the garden. 

“That’s… a relief,” Loki said, choosing his words carefully. “I cannot say the same, I’m afraid. I was trying to inflict the most damage by inferring, incorrectly of course, that you are unintelligent.” Loki sighed. “I may not be the psychopath that you thought me to be, but I am far from perfect. Or kindhearted.”

Clint opened his mouth to crack a joke about both of them being damaged, but what came out instead was “I wish I was seeing your eyes right now instead of someone else’s.” 

If he hadn’t been too busy being mortified, Clint would have felt a stab of pride at the pure shock that spread over Loki’s features. The mortification melted away nearly instantly when Loki’s disguise dissipated on Clint’s next breath, the deep green of Loki’s eyes becoming the only target of Clint’s focus. 

Clint swallowed. “Thanks. Uh. I don’t know why I said that. I guess if I was going to actually man up and apologize, I wanted to do it to your face.”

Loki smiled. “Such sexist phrasing. You humans are ridiculous.”

Clint thoughtlessly swatted Loki’s arm. “Fucker. I’m trying to apologize here. Also, remind me later to tell you all of the horrifying reasons why I think you and Nat would get along and ruin my life.”

Loki’s smile grew. “Noted. I think the Spider would make an excellent ally.”

Clint groaned. “Oops. Shouldn’t have said the thing. Saying lots of things I shouldn’t have said. This is bad. Anyway. I’m sorry for being a dick and making fun of your job. It sounds like you’re pretty helpful. Volunteer coordinator, eh?”

Loki nodded, eyes still trained on Clint. “I help match volunteers to different organizations in the city who are in need of help. A large majority of positions are directly related to efforts involving the…” Loki looked away. 

“Battle?” Clint treaded lightly. Loki nodded. Something in Clint’s heart cracked. 

“Fuck. Yeah, okay, so I’m a major league asshole, I got it. You wanna take me back in there and show me what it is you do, then? Maybe use me for free labor? I volunteer as tribute,” Clint joked, and felt vindicated when Loki pulled his stare back from the ground to level an unamused look directly at him. Which reminded Clint…

“Hey, am I still glamoured, or have you been having this conversation with the weird-faced me the whole time?” 

Loki’s cheeks pinkened a touch. “I never see it. I always see you.”

Ah. That answered that, then. “Oh, huh. That seems like a handy perk to the whole deal. Must make it so that you never lose track of anyone you’ve disguised. Makes sense.”

Loki shrugged. The action, casual from anyone else, always looked so odd on his frame. “I can manipulate the parameters however I please. I simply choose for your glamour’s effects to be voided to me.” 

_...huh_.

Clint opened his mouth to follow up, because he had _questions_ , when the side door opened and Bridgette’s head popped out. 

_Goddammit, Bridgette, I like you and all but your timing is terrible._

“There you are! Steve, you have the Y on line three?” 

Clint looked over and saw that, of course, Loki’s glamour was seamlessly back in place. Loki simply smiled and waved at her before calling out a quick “thank you!” 

Once the door was closed and Loki kicked himself away from the wall with a comment about ‘duty beckoning,’ Clint’s impulses kicked in. 

“So, Bridgette. The winking and the ‘good friend’ mean anything?”

Loki shot him A Look over his shoulder. “Such as?”

“Well, here on Earth, the winking alone could be tantamount to a good, old fashioned office flirtation.”

Loki let out a bark of laughter, which drew an instant grin out of Clint due to its rarity. 

“I can see where the implication may come from,” Loki acquiesced, “but I call her a good friend because she is willing to be my ‘wingman,’ as you would call it, on occasion. She and I share a similar taste in men, you see.” Loki shot Clint a grin of his own as he pulled the door open in an act of chivalry. “I can almost guarantee that her flustered appearance was a result of your presence.”

This time, when Clint tripped over nothing, Loki wasn’t close enough to steady him. The floor proved to be much more unforgiving than Loki had been.

*

“I’ve a peer group to run at four o’clock; would you like to join in?”

Loki’s voice nearly broke Clint’s concentration. He threw up a finger, an indication that he needed Loki to wait, he was _so close_ to being done reading through this last resume…

“You’ve been at it for hours. Take a breath. Drink some water, go for a damned walk.”

“Shhhh!” 

Loki shushed, and within the minute Clint grumbled and tossed the resume into the larger of two piles on the desk. “This one is more of a tech person, I think. Anyway, what?”

Loki snatched the remaining resumes from out of Clint’s hand. “That’s enough from you, thanks. I said, there’s a peer group starting in five minutes that I must run. Would you like to join or wait for me here? It’ll be finished by five and then I’ll be done for the day.”

Clint rubbed his eyes and pulled out his phone; he really _had_ been helping Loki sort volunteer resumes for nearly five hours. Somehow, the time had flown by, with only a thirty minute break and minimal discussion between the two of them. Loki had asked for Clint to go through a stack of resumes to see if he could find good fits for the animal shelter down the street from Clint’s apartment; Clint had been warmed at the thought that Loki had chosen to ask for help on such a fitting assignment. 

“What kind of group?”

Loki stood from his desk and opened the filing cabinet, pulling out a stack of navy blue folders. He passed one over to Clint. When he opened it and glanced at the document on top, he felt his stomach roil. 

“Grief and Loss? Fuck. How many lost people in-”

“Most of them.” Loki’s reply was curt. He didn’t meet Clint’s eyes. 

“No, man. Hell no, my ass is staying here. Give me those resumes back.” 

Loki sighed and seemed to debate. “Wouldn’t you rather take a break?”

Clint shook his head. “No. If I’m going to be here for an hour by myself, I’d rather be useful.” 

Loki rolled his eyes and handed the stack of resumes back to Clint. “Suit yourself. I’ll be back in an hour.” With that, Loki balanced the folders in his arm and tried to scoot past Clint’s chair to escape the small office. Clint put his arm out, blocking his path. Loki scowled and looked down. 

“Why do you do this to yourself?” Clint asked. 

Loki’s eyes were empty, as though he were seeing past Clint. The silence in the room was thick enough for Clint to hear the near-silent hum of his hearing aids. After a beat, Loki spoke.

“It’s my penance.”

Loki reached down to open the door. Clint moved his arm to allow passage, and when the door closed behind Loki’s back, the crack in Clint’s heart widened. 

*

When Loki returned to his office an hour later, even beneath the glamour, he looked drained and more exhausted than Clint could remember ever having felt himself. 

“We done here?” Clint asked, knowing better than to ask if Loki was okay. 

Loki nodded, putting folders and documents in their places for the night. 

“Now what?” Clint asked. “What would you usually do?”

Loki thought for a moment. “There’s a gym in my apartment building that I frequent. I enjoy cooking, and reading. There are nightly meetings that I hold via video with the Council of New Asgard which last anywhere from ten minutes to two hours, depending on how convoluted everyone decides to be about the mostly minor issues that occur on a daily basis. And then I try to sleep. It all likely sounds very mundane, but the lack of war and bloodshed has come as a welcome respite, for now.”

Clint snorted at the ‘for now’ tacked on at the end. Clint considered how it would feel, letting Loki drop him off at his apartment, knowing Loki’s intentions to return to his own place to work out, cook himself dinner and be alone with his thoughts as it sounded like he typically was, day in and day out, aside from his dealings with Thor and others at his newly established… home town? Home… planet, on Earth?

Clint shook his head. Thought of the bereft tone of Loki’s voice. _Penance_.

“Nah. How would you feel about a change of plans for the night?”

Loki’s relief at Clint’s inquiry was palpable. “Yes, please.”

Clint grinned.

*

“This is-” Loki gasped, grunting as he swung the sledgehammer mercilessly into a pane glass window, “ _delightful!_ ”

Clint laughed with glee, wiping sweat from his own forehead and pulling his goggles away from his face for a moment in an effort to try to disperse the sheen of fog from the inside. He didn’t want to miss a moment of Loki demolishing shit; there was something chaotically precise about the way the god went about it, his movements measured and calculated as though every swing was choreographed, every throw of a plate against the wall or floor practiced a hundred times before. Clint was beyond grateful that they were able to drop their glamours within the confines of the Rage Room; seeing Loki’s hair drawn up into a tangled and messy bun, with sweat stains covering half of his white undershirt (along with the bulging safety goggles) was giving Clint mental pictures that he wouldn’t trade for the world, images that he wished he’d had for years to challenge barrages of intrusive thoughts. 

“I told you you’d like it!” Clint called as Loki swung the hammer again, muscles straining in his lithe arms as he did so. Porcelain flew across the floor, and a timer blared above them. Clint winced; though his aids were turned all the way down, the frequency of the alarm did not gel all that great. 

“Alright?” Loki asked, dropping the sledgehammer to the ground and removing the goggles. “You’re not cut?”

“Nah,” Clint said, taking his own goggles off. “Hearing aids. They get funky with certain sounds, alarms, random shit I don’t expect.” Clint shrugged. “Can’t be helped. Even Stark tech isn’t perfect.” 

Loki squinted, his eyes bouncing back and forth between Clint’s ears, and Clint shook his head. 

“No. Uh uh.” 

“What?” Loki asked innocently, leaning down to pick up his discarded button-up from the ground. 

“If you’re trying to figure out a way to magic my hearing better, knock that shit off right now. I appreciate the gesture, but don’t trust that voodoo shit literally in my ear holes.”

Loki blushed, obviously caught in the act, and Clint felt oddly touched. He cleared his throat as they walked out of the room. 

“So, what’d you think? Better workout than your fancy apartment gym?”

“Indeed. I appreciate the brilliance of having a socially acceptable way to be destructive. It’s good for my well-being.” Loki’s eyes twinkled; still green, though Clint could see by his own reflection in the glass door leading out of the building that his glamour was firmly back in place.

Clint snorted. “That’s because you’re a mischievous little shit hiding a beating heart in that body. It feels good to break shit when you’re hurting, and you looked like you needed to break shit when you were done with your ‘I’m Loki So I’m Going To Torture Myself For Things That Aren’t My Fault’ group.”

They fell silent as they walked, the blocks passing them by quickly during the short jaunt back to Clint’s apartment. Loki followed Clint closely the entire time, even after they were inside the apartment building itself and Clint’s glamour, and therefore their close proximity, was no longer necessary. It was starting to feel natural, Loki being in his apartment, the thought that it used to be Clint’s greatest fear nearly dissipated into nothing. 

Once Clint’s monitor was back on his ankle, Clint made to stand from the chair to see Loki out. Rather than standing himself, Loki remained on the ground in front of Clint, kneeling, still quiet. Clint wasn’t sure what Loki was doing or what he should say or do, if anything; luckily, Loki’s stillness was not long lived.

“Do you still feel guilty?” Loki asked quietly. 

Clint didn’t need clarification, and he didn’t even entertain the idea of lying. “Every day.”

Loki’s eyes closed, and he looked _shattered_. “Even though you weren’t at fault?”

Clint opened his mouth to respond, to give his automatic assertion as he had for years: _”Knowing that it wasn’t my choice doesn’t mean I didn’t do it.”_ The words died in his mouth as understanding dawned on him. Loki’s penance, Clint’s comment about his self-torture, Clint’s own thoughts from earlier in the day about it all still being Loki’s fault in a way. Clint thought back to the first night that Loki had come to his apartment. 

_“It was my fault in a way, regardless. I was hungry for power, that much was true. I turned to the Other in the hopes that I could be helped in my venture to escape Asgard, escape from my Father’s rule and my brother’s shadow. It is how I was led to Thanos, how I became susceptible to the control of the Mind stone. It’s how I led him to control you, through me. If I have anything to apologize for, I suppose I should apologize for igniting the flame of chaos, and that is something I do regret.”_

“I forgive you.”

Loki’s head snapped upward at Clint’s statement, his eyes wide. The god kneeling on Clint’s apartment floor simply stared, and Clint looked back, trying to portray an outward demeanor of calm while inside, he was whipping about like a _fucking hurricane_. 

“Why would you do that?” Loki asked.

Clint shrugged, pulse pounding in his ears. “Because I feel like it.”

When Loki smiled, Clint felt all of the tally marks that he had been collecting in Loki’s favor melt away; he knew that it would no longer be necessary to keep track. 

*

Clint slept even better after that day. Not only did his nightmare-less streak continue, but he found himself enjoying stretches of sleep that he expected normal people often experienced on a regular basis; six, seven hours of uninterrupted sleep. He woke feeling refreshed, and even Lucky seemed to notice the difference, bounding around Clint first thing in the morning rather than waiting a few hours for Clint to become fully cognizant. 

He engaged more with his tenants, video called members of the team other than just Nat, and started texting with Loki daily. He enjoyed the process of trying to teach the god meme culture via in-vivo exposure; Loki was hella intelligent and culturally swift, but ho-boy was he slow on the uptake with millennial humor. It brought Clint endless hours of entertainment.

The two of them had plans in place for the weekend following Clint having tagged along with Loki for work, and Clint didn’t even try to lie to himself; he was excited. Excited at the prospect of leaving the apartment, sure, but mostly thrilled that he was finally going to check out Loki’s digs. The night beforehand, as he was feeding Lucky and getting ready to settle in for an evening of Netflix binging, he found himself quickly distracted. 

It would have been difficult to not be distracted _by a giant sparkly portal opening up in the middle of his fucking living room._

“What in the actual motherfuck-!” Clint yelped, jumping onto his couch. He leaned swiftly backward to snatch his lightweight crossbow from behind the back cushions and pointed it directly at the portal, which popped and fizzed around its golden edges. Lucky jumped on the couch next to him, and started barking when people started to clamber out of the futzing thing. 

It took every cell in his body to refrain from punching the trigger on his bow at the tall man in the bizzaro fucking cape with the wannabe-Tony facial hair who stepped out first, but it was easy to see that he was empty handed. He was followed by a small woman with rich brown skin, long and thick dark hair, and an air of strength that let Clint know immediately that she could likely take him in a fight. She also appeared to be unarmed… but Clint suspected she was sheathing at least one or two blades beneath her clothing. 

“Who the fu-” Clint started, the words dying on his lips when the third person barged into his living room, looking far more panicked, and far more familiar, than the first two. 

“Thor?”

His hair was shorter and there was something undoubtedly off about his eyes, but there was no doubt that it was Thor, and he looked _distraught_. He came up to Clint immediately and drew him into a crushing hug. 

“Barton! You are a sight for sore eyes, my friend. I apologize for intruding, but Loki, he’s… unwell.” Thor looked confused, and Clint dropped his crossbow as he stepped off of the couch. 

“What does that mean? Is he sick?”

“He’s more or less unresponsive,” the woman spoke. “Which, to be honest, is nearly welcome, but a concern all the same.”

“Unresponsive? Was he injured? Did he get fucking shot? And also I _still don’t know who you are_?”

“My name is Brunnhilde, call me Valkyrie. I’m the King of New Asgard, and right now, my Hand is… in a state.”

Clint gaped, confusion and questions swirling in his mind. He looked to Thor, who simply nodded. 

“Okay, I have questions, but that can wait. Can nobody speak plain English here? Unresponsive, in a state, unwell… what the fuck is wrong with Loki?”

“He’s having a panic attack, Agent Barton.” The caped man stated plainly, and okay, right now he was Clint’s favorite. “And before you ask, my name is Stephen Strange. I’m the-”

“Sorcerer Supreme! I know about you. I keep up on my reading,” Clint said, information from more recent files provided by Natasha clicking into place. “Okay. That I understand. Where is he and I still don’t really understand why you’re all in my apartment?”

“He’s in New Asgard,” Valkyrie explained. “We needed him there to help us sort out a matter involving our written history, and when he stepped foot onto the ship belonging to our minstrel-”

“He went onto a fucking boat?!” Clint exclaimed, and groaned. “That’s - No. That fucking idiot.”

Thor’s eyes went wide, and he regarded Clint with an unreadable expression. “I - oh.”

Clint stared at him. “‘Oh’ what? What is ‘oh’?”

“That might explain it. We’re here because he’s refusing our help,” Thor said. “He only wants to speak with you.” 

Clint’s cracked-open heart stuttered. He swallowed once, and balled his fists at his sides, squeezing once, twice, and a third time before nodding his head. 

“Okay. Yeah, okay. And we get to him by stepping through that portal-ish thingy? And then what, I’ll be in Norway?”

Strange nodded. “To put it simply, yes.”

Clint bounced on his heels, his own anxiety flowing through him. Knowing that Loki was on the other side and knowing precisely how he was feeling made it easy for him to take a jogging start, and in an instant he was stepping foot onto grass-covered land. 

The light on his ankle monitor flashed red.


	5. Chapter 5

Norway was dark, and cold, and fucking _wet_. 

Which made sense, given that Clint had hurtled himself headfirst into a portal from his living room and onto a seaside hill in jeans, a t-shirt, and a pair of socks so threadbare that he could feel each individual blade of grass tickle the soles of his feet as he tumbled forward, the temperature change and sudden presence of wind startling him into slowing from his initial jog. The expanse of water laid out before him at the precipice of the embankment just ahead was vast, the sea glittering with the light of what could barely be considered a sliver of moon in the cloud-spotted sky above. Different hues of dark blues to black and silver sparkled across the watertop in the dark.

Maybe it would have triggered something in him, months ago. Or maybe even then, in that moment, had he not had Loki to focus on, to get to.

Clint lost his breath for a moment as his eyes skittered around, taking in the small town just down a dirt road to his left, with docks and boats littering the shore. A small sign indicated that the Asgardians had assigned this as their new home, and Clint thought of how far away Loki must feel from his home _all the time_. 

The sounds of bustling from behind him snapped him out of his reverie, and he turned just in time to see Strange closing the portal, the large band of gold spinning and shrinking into nothing but a single dying spark before blinking out of existence. Clint wondered what Lucky was making of it all on the other side, if anything could even surprise the old boy anymore. 

“Is that going to be a problem?” The woman - King - Brunn - _Valkyrie_ asked Clint as she strode past, nodding toward Clint’s feet as she walked by. Clint looked down, the red flashing light blaring at him from beneath the hem of his jeans, lighting his foot and the ground in an eerie, foreboding manner that made Clint’s stomach sour.

“Uh, yeah,” Clint said. “Probably.” He paused, considered for a moment longer. “But I guess it’s a problem for future me.” Clint turned to look at Thor; the god had a queasy air about him, hands on his knees and eyes on the ground as though unsettled by the jumps through space. 

“Where’s your dear brother?”

Thor looked up, and for the first time Clint noticed that his eyes shone two different colors in the moonlit dark. With a small groan, Thor stood and bobbed his head toward Valkyrie and Strange, whose cape was flapping behind him. _How dramatic._

“The ship with the lights, closest to the south port. I doubt the minstrel remains on board. Loki’s behaviors were quite… unsettling.”

Clint cursed under his breath and put one foot in front of the other, ignoring the way that his feet protested when shifting from the damp grass to the pebbled road. Thor fell in step with him, obviously shortening his strides even though Clint was trying to be quick about the whole endeavor. 

“What should I expect to find, Thor?” Clint asked. “Is he lashing out? Magicking the shit out of everyone? Screaming and crying? I’d like to at least try to be prepared. I’ve only seen him be basically either the picture of composure, a whiny asshole or, well…” Clint left what could go unspoken, unspoken. 

“None of the sort,” Thor said. “It’s as though he’s incapable of movement. Frozen in place. I would think him unbreathing if not his ability to speak what little he’s spoken to me since the bard found us in a panic.”

Clint’s gut squirmed unpleasantly. “And he asked for me?”

“Mmm. Insulted me quite brilliantly, given his state, and then demanded that I fetch you as quickly as possible. Said you’d be the only one with the knowledge to help. It’s only luck that the Sorcerer and I are acquainted with one another, and recently at that.” Thor side-eyed Clint as they cut across an expanse of grass rather than continue down the road, a faster path to the docks. “If I might say, you’d be the last man I would expect to find willing to-”

“He’s a friend.”

The words were out of Clint’s mouth before he thought to speak them, and though they felt slightly off on his tongue, the taste of the sentiment wasn’t unpleasant. 

Clint shook his head, inhaled. “What happened to the prick, Thor? The one who did this to m- to us? _Thanos_.” He spat the name like he would something bitter and rotten.

“I cut off his head,” Thor said simply. Clint’s eyebrows shot up at the bluntness. 

“Oh. Huh.”

“Loki helped.”

“...yeah. Yeah, he mentioned as much. Fuck. I’m glad. Thanks.”

Thor smiled, small and tight, as they stepped onto the dock. 

The ship was large and strangely shaped, and it took Clint a moment of observation to figure out that it was a houseboat rather than a standard ship for sailing. The lights were on inside, and the door on the deck was wide open. Clint made to enter and was stopped by Thor’s large hand wrapping around his upper arm. 

“When we left him, he was not… that is, he looked, in his state, as he does when he…” Thor grimaced. “What do you know of my brother’s heritage?”

Clint, perplexed, shrugged. Thor’s gentle grip dropped. 

“I don’t know. I know he’s your adopted brother, because you never let us forget it. I remember reading in his file about Jotunheim, and that depending on the day he gets bitchy about being called Odinson or Laufeyson…”

“You know some, then. And he’s told us of the glamours, how he’s managed to spend as much time with you outside of your home. Clint, the way you know Loki, the way that you see him? That, too, is a glamour, always. His Jotun form is his true form and he’s still who you know him to be. Just please, if he is weakened and _different_ , don’t fear him. If you were to fear him, now?”

Thor didn’t continue. He didn’t need to, or perhaps he didn’t know how. Clint nodded.

“10-4, bud. Promise not to run screaming for the hills. This wouldn’t be the first time he’s changed shit up on me, after all. Where is he?”

“In the hull below. I won’t stray far.”

Clint stepped onto the boat.

*

When Clint made his way into the small room in the hull, after descending what was frankly an offensively cramped stairwell, Loki filled his view almost immediately. 

The lights, if there were any, were off or out, but Clint could make out a small desk, papers, and books lining shelves due to the light shining from a row of thick-cut circular windows along the wall. Small golden statues and other trinkets were scattered around the floor near the baseboards, and Clint could picture in his mind Loki sitting at the desk, transcribing the history of Asgard; the feeling of magic, lore, _nostalgia_ within the room was nearly suffocating.

Standing stock still in front of one of the round windows, back to Clint, was Loki. 

His black hair fell down his back, standing out starkly against the bright whiteness of his shirt. Clint could see that he had his arms wrapped around himself, the hold tight, and Clint’s heart clenched. 

Clint didn’t try to mask his approach, cursing himself for the hundredth time for not wearing shoes; his socked feet made little sound on the wooden floor as he made the few steps that he needed to stand an arm's length back from Loki. 

Clint cleared his throat gently. Loki didn’t startle; of course he’d taken notice. 

“You know, if you missed me so much, all you had to do was say so. Sending a god, Harry Potter and an actual King to my apartment was all a bit unnecessary.” 

Nothing.

“Regardless, it obviously worked. Here I am. And I’m gonna, just-”

Clint moved cautiously to join Loki at his side, not out of fear, but more in caution as to not increase Loki’s tension. Clint looked over once they were shoulder to shoulder, and the breath punched out of his lungs.

Loki’s face shone brightly in the moonlight that flooded through the windows, his eyes clenched tightly closed, moisture gathered at the seams and sticking to his lashes. He had bitten his bottom lip raw, and he looked so pale, so _bloodless_ in the blue light that Clint wanted to slap him, to bring color into his cheeks.

In an instant, however, Clint was flooded with understanding. He took in a deep, steadying breath of his own before he could focus fully on helping Loki. It was the light coming in through the windows, Clint knew; being in the hull, just below the surface of the water, the moonlight filtered into a shade of ethereal blue, a blue that Clint would label “Tesseract Blue” if it were made by fucking Crayola. Clint’s skin prickled all over, and he needed to get away from it, from the blue, from the light-

Clint moved to stand in front of Loki, turning his back on the line of windows and blocking Loki’s view as much as possible. He withdrew his phone from his pocket and shook it heavily until the flashlight function illuminated their slice of the room in bright white light, and plunked the phone onto the floor. 

“Okay. There’s a light on in the room, now, and I’m standing right in front of you. If you open your eyes, you’re just gonna see my adorable and charming face, okay? Nothin’ else. You can do this.” Clint thought for a beat, thought about what he would want to hear, need to hear. “Open your eyes for me, Loki, and I can tell you what color they are, yeah?” 

Loki’s eyes sprang open, and Clint’s entire body lurched a few millimeters backward.

_it’sokayit’sokayit’sokayThortoldyounotbluenotblue_

“Not quite what I was expecting, but not blue either,” Clint said, swallowing. “You never fail to surprise me, ya know?”

Loki’s bright red eyes fixated on Clint’s, latching on as though Clint were the only thing tethering him to solid ground. Clint made it a point to stare back, to not look away, to try to remember to blink like a normal person, _oh shit, how often do people normally blink?_

“Are your eyes the only thing that’s different about you? Than what I’m used to, I mean.” Clint chose to try distraction. After a moment, Loki shook his head. It was a flick, something hardly perceivable, but it was there.

“Thor told me that, ah, it might be hard for you to look all human, Asgardian, whatever, when you’re having a hard time. Don’t feel like you have to pull a tough guy act on my account. I once had to have Kate count to two-hundred with me in the dressing room of a fucking Target. If it’ll help to drop the glamour, Lokes, do it.”

Loki’s eyes widened a fraction, and his lips parted. The marks from where his front teeth had split his lower lip looked red and painful, and Clint winced.

“No.” Loki's voice was strained, but Clint wanted to dance in celebration regardless. It was strained, but it was _something_. Clint ran with it.

“Is now the time to be a stubborn ass? Seriously? Won’t it help to just let go and relax?”

“You’ll not look at me the sa-”

“Fuck’s sake, Loki.” Clint stepped forward, let his instincts guide him, mirroring the kind of touch that helped to ground him when his anxiety spiked, hoped that it wouldn’t get him punched or magically spliced somehow. Clint lifted his arm and moved until his hand settled, firmly cupping the back of Loki’s neck. Loki made a wounded sound, and his appearance shuddered before it fell away completely. 

Their eyes never strayed from one another as it happened, as deep blue stained Loki’s flesh where there had been milky white, and curved marks made themselves pronounced over Loki’s brows, his cheeks, his chin. Only when Loki finally blinked did Clint allow his gaze to flicker over the changes. 

“Was that so damn hard?” Clint asked.

Shock flickered over Loki’s features before disappearing just as quickly as it’d come, and was replaced with exhausted relief. Clint could feel tension drain from Loki’s body with the way his muscles moved beneath Clint’s hand; it took barely any effort to bring Loki forward, for Clint to bring his other arm around Loki’s back as Loki buried his head in the junction between Clint’s throat and shoulder. While Loki didn’t return Clint’s hold, his arms still embracing himself, the way that Loki breathed deeply against Clint’s collarbone helped assure Clint that he wasn’t completely fucking this up, that he was in some way at least being comforting. 

They stayed there for an untold time; at some point, Clint had started to stroke his thumb lightly at the nape of Loki's neck, raven hair soft and yielding as he did so. Loki’s tight squeeze around himself loosened, until his arms hung limply at his side, and Clint could feel Loki’s chest rise and fall with easy, paced breaths. It was only then when Clint felt it was safe to break the silence. 

“A fucking boat, Loki, really? You literally told me yourself how triggering the water out here is to you.”

Loki didn’t laugh, but he did huff a bit, and it sounded amused, so Clint considered it a win. 

“Thought it would be safer at night,” Loki admitted. “I was bound to be wrong about something eventually.”

Clint snorted, and made to yield his hold on Loki; Loki _scrambled_ , curling his arms around Clint’s waist and clutching Clint even tighter against him. 

“Oh. Alright then,” Clint said, and it was _fond_ , even to his own ears. Clint resumed holding Loki to his chest, shifting a bit in order to start smoothing Loki’s hair with his hand. 

“M’not a pet,” Loki mumbled into Clint’s shoulder. 

“‘Course not.” Clint agreed. “I could stop?”

“I’ll turn into a snake and strike you where you stand.”

“Yeah, that’s what I fucking thought.”

“Clint?”

“Yep?”

“Your ankle jewelry appears to be very ornery.”

“Yep.”

“You realize, if they try to accuse you of travelling to Norway and back to your apartment in the blink of an eye, it’ll be very likely you’ll be able to argue that it was a technological error? It is my understanding that these things happen frequently on Midgard.” 

“Mmm. Not a bad idea. Very simple. Sneaky. Sounds like something you would suggest.”

“Well, yes. That’s why I suggested it.” 

Loki pulled back then, and Clint felt chilled at the sudden absence of Loki’s body against his own. It was odd, how comforting it’d been to be the one providing comfort when Clint had been so used to being on the other side of things for so long. 

Clint almost jumped back again, having nearly forgotten about Loki’s appearance. “Yeah, that’s gonna take some getting used to.” Clint motioned vaguely to Loki's face.

Loki did laugh, then. “My apologies. You’ll not have to bear witness to this again.”

Clint shook his head. “Don’t be so… like that. Insecure? That’s the word. It’s weird, from you. Your ego is usually too much for me to handle, this is giving me whiplash.” Clint considered for a moment and decided that this entire interaction had consisted of him pushing his luck, and it hadn’t wound up horribly so far, so. “Besides, if you wanted to just be yourself, be like this, when it’s just us? That’d be fine, ya know? It’s pretty…” 

Loki cocked an eyebrow, the flush on his cheeks creating an enticing violet color. “Pretty what?”

The realization hit Clint then. Warmth and a sudden onslaught of nerves pooled in his stomach as he tilted his head. 

“Huh. I think, maybe, just… pretty.”

Loki’s eyes squinted even as his flush grew darker. “You called me Lokes, a bit ago,” he accused, breathless. 

“You said that you and Bridgette have the same taste in dudes.”

“So? I fail to see the relevance to-”

“And then you said that she got all blushy and flustered cuz of me.”

“Well, you _were_ magically glamoured.”

“But you don’t see the disguise. You only ever see me.”

Loki opened his mouth. Closed it. Swallowed. Clint grinned.

“And to think that I was going to thank you for coming to help me tonight. Now you’re just being vexing,” Loki grumbled, and Clint burst out laughing, a lightness bubbling up inside of him. He watched as the corners of Loki’s mouth twitched.

“Loki? Clint?”

Thor’s voice, somehow loud and tentative simultaneously, came from the top of the stairs. Loki did startle then, and Clint reached out to take one of his hands, giving it a quick squeeze. 

“You feeling like you can head up?” Clint asked.

Loki nodded, once slightly and then once more firmly, and somehow in between he became the Loki that Clint was used to, all pale skin, rosy cheeks and deep green eyes. Loki brought their clasped hands upward, and brushed a kiss against Clint’s knuckles before letting go. 

“Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Clint croaked, mouth suddenly dry and vocabulary nonexistent. He followed Loki up the stairs, where Thor was waiting to meet them. 

Once they were in the main room of the houseboat things became very suddenly crowded, as Loki, Clint and Thor were also met with Strange, who was looking impatient.

“Are you quite ready?” Strange asked. _Yep, impatient_. 

“Oh. Uh, yeah, I suppose I am,” Clint said. He very suddenly didn’t want to leave, and also found that he wished he could say goodbye to Loki alone, without an audience.

_Why? What would you do, dumbass, maul him when the dude just had a grade A panic attack and you just realized that you maybe think he’s incredibly fucking gorgeous and you’ve maybe been harboring... something? For him since… since… oh, hell, since when?_

“Are you alright?”

It was Thor who asked, but when Clint snapped his head up he found everyone staring at him. It was quite unsettling. 

“Me? Yeah, aces. Let’s do this. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Supreme.” Clint watched as Strange manipulated his hands in a dizzying manner before spreading the portal wide open, the view of his living room and Lucky sleeping on the couch suddenly within reach. 

“Thor.” Clint shot off a solute. 

“Your assistance here is much appreciated, friend,” Thor said. Clint smiled, and turned his gaze to Loki. His coloring was still a bit off, and he was looking as lost in thought as Clint felt, but he was smiling a bit as well nonetheless. 

“I’ll see ya, Lokes.”

As Clint stepped through the portal, he heard Thor make an incredulous sound. “You’ve threatened to kill anyone who’s dared call you-”

“Don’t think I won’t end you right where you stand, brother.”

The portal stitched itself closed, leaving Clint and Lucky alone in his apartment. Clint had a moment to laugh to himself, chuckling goofily at the exchange he had overheard, before there was a knock on his door. 

Not even the sight of a very pissy looking Maria Hill could wipe the grin off of his face.


	6. Chapter 6

“Oh hey, Nat’s on her way over,” Clint announced. “She wants to know if you want coffee.”

He glanced up from his phone to where Maria Hill was sprawled across his couch, PS4 controller in hand. 

She didn’t pause the game as she considered. “Where’s she going?”

“Hell if I know. Anywhere she can grab a hazelnut latte.”

Maria did pause, then. She looked over to Clint and cocked an eyebrow as she watched him slurp from his overly large cup of coffee. 

“Has your sister-from-another — likely-terrifying — mister somehow forgotten that you probably own half of the coffee supply in the city?”

Clint grinned. “She says she drinks coffee for the pick-me-up, not for the fifty-fifty chance of heart failure. _Apparently_ , my brew’s a touch on the strong side.” 

Maria rolled her eyes and stretched, joints popping as she did so. She extended the controller toward Clint; he shook his head. She set it on the coffee table and stood. 

“Tell her thanks, but no thanks. I have a few other wildly dangerous national threats to check up on before Mr. Thaddee-Ass’ll be satisfied for the day.” 

Clint shot off a text to Natasha, and groaned dramatically as he stood from the chair before following Maria to the door. She slipped her boots on and kneeled to lace up. 

“I still don’t understand how you wound up reporting to Ross,” he said, leaning against the wall. 

Maria shrugged. “Well, it’s not the worst thing to happen after finding out that your previous employer was actually, kinda, a little bit run by a bunch of Nazi fucks. Besides, Ross’ assignments are tedious, but the pay’s good, while on the flipside, Nick has me doing fun stuff for pennies.” Boots tied, Maria stood and blew a puff of air upward, her brown bangs jumping. “Thanks for being here and not, y’know, in Barbados or some other nonsense.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “C’mon, Hill. I’ve been here for all three of your check-ins! Even the first one, when I was supposed to be… where’d the monitor say I was at damn near the same time you showed up? Sweden?”

Maria stared at him blankly, clearly unamused. “Norway.”

Clint snapped his fingers and grinned. “That’s right! Norway. I gotta tell ya, after nine months of house arrest, Norway sounds pretty nice.”

“Mmm-hmm.” She cocked her head to the side, crossed her arms over her chest. “Remind me; where is it that your new best friend lives? And his brother? And, you know, all the rest of his _former planet_?”

Clint narrowed his eyes, quickly mirroring her stance. “If you’re talking about Loki, he lives, oh, a few blocks northeast of here, remember? And since you asked, I already _told you_ , I haven’t seen him in… a minute.” 

Or rather — he hadn’t seen him since the night that Maria had wound up pounding on Clint’s apartment door the first time, over a week ago. The night his ankle monitor had been tripped. It all swirled around in Clint’s mind, in the matter of a moment; New Asgard, Loki’s bitten and swollen lip, his skin blue, heart beating against Clint’s chest… and radio silence, ever since. No knocks on Clint’s door, no phone calls, no responses to Clint’s texts. Nothing.

“Huh,” Maria snapped him out of his moment. “You look like a kicked puppy. Over Loki. _Loki_. I never thought I’d see the day.”

Clint was suddenly _very_ finished with the conversation. “Okay, we done? Not that it hasn’t been nice, but, ya know. Your other terrorist threats are probably runnin’ amok and all that.” Clint stepped away from the wall and around Maria, opening the door to see her out. 

For a moment, Clint thought that she almost looked apologetic for pushing. As quickly as the look appeared on her face, it was gone, and she nodded as she stepped toward the door. 

“Yeah, yeah. Two more surprise drop-ins, Barton.” Maria walked out, giving Clint a little wave. “Make my life easy and be here!” She called over her shoulder before disappearing down the stairwell.

“Yep,” he said, too softly for her to hear, and shut the door. 

*

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Gee, hello to you too, Tash,” Clint said. Natasha closed the door and kicked her shoes off, dropped her copy of Clint’s apartment key and her wallet on the side table, and joined Clint where he was sitting on the floor, leaning against the back of the couch, facing the door. He resumed his and Lucky’s game of barely-fetch by rolling a worn tennis ball across the empty space of what would be a dining room if he ever decided to buy a table, between the apartment door and the open-area living room. Lucky lazily retrieved the ball and ambled toward them, choosing to drop down in front of Natasha to demand belly rubs rather than continuing to play. 

“I didn’t hear an answer.” Natasha turned to face Clint, and took a long pull from her latte. She didn’t blink as she waited for him to answer. 

“‘M fine! Don’t start in on me, you _just_ walked in.”

Natasha’s green eyes narrowed slightly as she lowered her coffee cup. “Don’t make me call Hill. I’m not above it.”

“Aurgh! What is it with everyone in my life being an absolute asshole?”

“Birds of a feather, птичка.”

Clint tightened his jaw at the endearment. _You know you’re going to spill, just futzing do it already._

Clint opened his mouth to do just that. “It was… brought up that I haven’t had contact with Loki since my monitor absolutely malfunctioned and I most definitely did not go to New Asgard, like, ten days ago. And Hill, she just _rubbed_ me about it the wrong way, ya know? Made it sound like I was…” He trailed off, searching for the right word.

“Pining?” Natasha offered.

Clint snapped his fingers. “Yeah! And it was annoying. So. That’s what’s wrong with me.” 

Silence fell over them. Clint pointedly did not look at Natasha, fully aware that she was staring holes into the side of his face. 

Minutes passed. 

Clint finally broke the silence. “I’m not gonna break first.”

“You’re an idiot,” Natasha said. “You’ve got a lot wrong with you. You’re counting days, Clint.”

Clint pulled his knees up, rested his forehead against them. “It’s fucking _Loki_ , Nat.”

“I’m familiar.” Natasha paused. “But you know, actually, I’m not. Not really. Not familiar like you are. If you’re expecting me to judge you for being lovesick over the guy, it’s not happening. I’ve never actually met him. Not this guy who works at the community center, spends time helping people, and killed the bastard who hurt you. That guy doesn’t sound half bad.”

“He’s the God of Mischief.”

“We spent how many years as paid assassins?”

Clint found himself grasping for proverbial straws. 

“I’m not lovesick, for your information. He just so happens to be a decent friend. Who has good hair and… pretty eyes.”

Natasha snorted. “Clint, you just described _Bruce_. How many days has it been since you’ve seen him?” 

“I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Natasha leaned over and pecked Clint on the cheek before hoisting herself up and over the back of the couch. “Ooooh, Dark Souls III. You or Hill?”

“Hill,” Clint answered, grabbing Natasha’s latte from the floor as he stood. He walked around the couch and set the coffee on the table in front of her before sitting down beside her. “She’s decent. Only died about a hundred times in the half hour or so she was here.”

Natasha cocked an eyebrow. “Not bad, Maria,” she muttered under her breath, controller already in hand, competitive glint in her eye, even in the absence of competition.

The conversation from that point forward remained light, the subject of Loki all but forgotten until Natasha was heading out a few hours later. 

“You’re an Avenger, not a child,” she whispered in his ear as she hugged him goodbye. “Just call him.”

Clint tugged her bright red braid in response.

*

Clint tried texting Loki three more times that evening, after checking in with Thor that his brother was indeed alive, functioning, and with a working phone (in that order). He spaced his texts apart by a few hours, trying not to be _that person_ , and also trying to give himself time to figure out the right thing to say. 

**C. Barton**  
I have it on good authority that you’re answering other texts so I know you’re ignoring me. I just don’t know why

**C. Barton**  
If you’re embarrassed about anything that happened on the boat then you’re being an idiot. Hi. Clint Barton. Anxiety PTSD Extraordinaire. It’s why you wanted me there in the first place

**C. Barton**  
And if you’re feeling weird about any of the other stuff and not the panic attack, you don’t have to. Feel weird about it I mean. Or talk about it. Ignoring awkward things? Also part of my charm

Loki didn’t respond. 

As the hours went by, Clint found himself becoming more and more _pissed_. He watched the minutes tick by on his phone, slow as fucking molasses, only two or three having passed every time he checked (which was every time he rolled over in bed, uncomfortable and irritated). 

When the time hit 3:00 a.m., Clint was running on fumes. Fumes, and desperation. 

**C. Barton**  
Hey. Asshole  
I was doing fine until you showed up with that stupid psych report you know  
And when you DID I started sleeping like a PERSON  
And also you screwed up because now I know you’re a decent person or god or whatever  
It felt good to help you. I thought we were friends. And now you’re ignoring me and that is just so shitty and guess what?

Clint sent the text, horrified to find that his eyes were stinging. Though he’d ended his tirade with a question, he didn’t expect Loki to ever respond to it, and so he typed out the answer and hit send before he could change his mind. 

**C. Barton**  
Now I can’t sleep  
And I miss you

Three minutes later, Clint’s phone vibrated with an incoming call.

“Shit! Shit shit shit,” Clint chanted, grasping at his side table for a hearing aid and all but stuffing it into his ear as quickly as possible, sliding his thumb over his phone screen to accept the call. 

“Loki?”

“No. It’s the other psych-report wielding god that you’ve decided to incessantly yammer at via text message at a frankly ungodly time of night.” 

Clint’s stomach did a somersault at the sound of his voice. 

_Oh. Great, I really AM fucked._

“Oh, sorry,” Clint said. He swallowed. “There are just so many of you. Hard to keep straight.”

Loki sighed. “Yes, well. Fortunately for you, you didn’t wake me.”

Clint hummed. “So, I should take that to mean that you’ve been awake to receive _all_ of my text messages throughout the night, then?”

Silence.

“What the fuck, Loki? I know, based on what I’ve pieced together from Thor, and your file, and things that I’ve heard from your own mouth, that you might not be the greatest at the whole friendship thing—”

“Is that what this is, what we are?” Loki cut in. “Friends?” 

Even through the shitty connection of his single Bluetooth aid, Clint could hear something akin to malice in his voice. It startled him. 

“Aren’t we?”

Loki scoffed. “Do friends hold each other, Barton? Stroke one another’s hair in times of distress, use sticky-sweet, overfamiliar names and spew ridiculous, _childish_ compliments? Do _friends_ call each other _pretty_?”

Clint recoiled where he was sitting on the bed, as though he’d been slapped. 

“But… you!” Clint said. “You held onto ME. And…” _You’re an Avenger, not a child._ “You kissed my hand.”

“Oh, get off it,” Loki spat. “I was weak. I know how your mind works, Agent, or have you forgotten?”

Fear, like ice water, trickled down the back of Clint’s spine. He closed his eyes, screwed them shut in an effort to fight off the feeling of panic rising in his chest. It’d been so long, over two months now, since he’d thought of Loki as a threat, as someone who’d hurt him. 

_Why is he doing this?_

“Why are you doing this?” Clint asked, with a rigid calmness that he didn’t feel. 

“I could be asking you the same. I spent so long trying to figure out a way to seek your forgiveness that I didn’t even consider how the process might leave me open to ambush. Regardless of whether it was by my will or not, I was inside your mind; your tactical brilliance was something, _is_ something, to be admired, revered. Why you’ve employed this, this… deceptive beguilement is a mystery to me. What is the purpose, Barton? You’ve earned my trust, you’d nearly ensnared my endearment, and I can’t parse out your INTENT!” 

By the time he’d finished speaking, Loki was yelling, and Clint was drowning in confusion; the peak-clipping of his hearing aid maxing out didn’t help, and he let slip a whine of protest against the sensation overload, physical and emotional combined. 

Loki breathed on the other end of the line, raggedly and audibly. At Clint’s wounded sound, he stuttered. “Are... are you hurt?”

Clint laughed, ever the provider of inappropriate responses, and opened his eyes to his dark and empty bedroom. 

“I’m fucking _confused,_ is what I am! Because, and tell me if I’m wrong, which I’m sure you will and with pleasure, but what it sounds like is you decided to stop talking to me because you think I’m, what — manipulating you?” Clint let out another breathless laugh, anxiety having crested, control seeping back in through cracked edges. 

“Why else would you do it?” Loki challenged.

“Why else would I do _what?_ ”

“Why else would you _care?_ ”

Loki’s broken voice provided the moment of clarity that Clint so desperately needed. The cracked pieces of his heart that he’d been trying to hold together since the first moment Loki had appeared at his apartment promptly fell apart. 

“Lokes,” Clint whispered. “I forgave you.”

“Well. Maybe you shouldn’t have,” Loki said, voice tight and acidic. “It doesn’t make any sense. I _wanted_ you to forgive me. I _wanted_ you to see that I was trying to right unrightable wrongs. I _wanted_ you to recognize me.”

“And I did! All of that! I’m really, really failing to see the problem here, dude,” Clint said, exasperated. He leaned his head back against his bedroom wall. At the sound, Lucky perked his head up from the end of the bed, and Clint wondered how the dog had slept through all the distress that’d come beforehand. 

“There’s a difference,” Loki said, “between wanting something, Barton, and receiving it without a fight. Without… intention. Also, again, not a dude.” Loki sighed then, and Clint thought he sounded exhausted. “What do you want from me?”

_There it is. The million dollar question._

Clint stared at the outside light spilling onto his floor from his bedroom window as he contemplated Loki’s question. It was too early for rush hour, Lucky had already fallen back asleep, and Loki seemed to recognize that Clint needed a moment. Time stood still and silent for him as he considered.

“You know,” Clint finally said. “It’s not lost on me, how the tables have turned. All I wanted to know when you showed up here two months ago was what you wanted from me. You said you wanted to tell me that I had no reasons to be afraid. You wanted me to know that Thanos was dead, and I didn’t have to fear you anymore. I’m not scared of you, but I felt real fuckin’ scared a few minutes ago when I realized that yeah, you still have the power to hurt me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then don’t,” Clint said simply. “I don’t want to hurt you either. I don’t have any hidden agenda, you dick. I care because you made me care.”

Loki drew a harsh breath, and started haughtily, “I didn’t make you do —”

“Jesus tapdancing Christ, we have SO MUCH baggage!” Clint said. “Stupid word choice, I know you didn’t actually, like, mind-control me into giving a shit about you! God! And I don’t mean ‘God’ like I’m worshiping you or some shit because right now you’re being really, really annoying, but that’s so not the point.” 

“Do you have a point, Barton?” Finally, a teasing tone had crept into Loki’s words, and a smile threatened its way onto Clint’s face.

“If you ‘Barton’ or ‘Agent’ me one more time, I swear to your brother, Loki.”

A huff of laughter. “Fine. Clint. Continue.”

Clint’s smile blossomed. “I was trying to say that I care because you showed up, I finally got to meet you, and it’s real damn hard not to care for someone who’s so… everything that you are, Lokes. The good, the mischievous, the human, the magic parts of you. That’s why I care. No nefarious purposes. No hidden agendas. No ace up my sleeve.”

A few seconds passed, and Clint found that he was holding his breath, unused to this level of vulnerability and provision of raw, verbal assurances.

“You also think I’m pretty,” Loki said. “You said it and you can’t _unsay_ it.”

“You… are such a fuckin’ asshole,” Clint managed the words before letting out a bark of laughter, surprised and pleased at Loki’s response. “But, fine. I maybe also think you’re pretty. The whole pale skin, dark hair, green eyes thing you have goin’ for you is nice, but let’s be honest; can we, you and I together, take a moment to appreciate the irony of how good you look in blue?”

Loki’s breath hitched, and Clint’s stomach clenched in response. 

“You mean it.” Loki phrased it as a statement, a realization. 

Clint nodded, then realized that he was talking on the phone — Loki couldn’t see him nodding. “Uh, yeah. Wouldn’t’ve said it if I didn’t.” Clint swallowed, throat dry, and his pulse began to race as he formulated his next question. “You asked me what I wanted. I… am I allowed to ask, for what I want?”

“ _Yes_.” 

“I wanna see you.”

Loki’s response was immediate.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Don’t — just, don’t move, or find a way to get yourself into trouble between now and then, please.”

Clint held back a laugh, and feigned offense. “How dare you. I am a pinnacle of perfect behavior. And besides, gotta move, Lokes. Gotta unlock the door to let you in.”

Clint would have sworn he could hear the smile in Loki’s voice when he said, “Magic, remember?”

With that, Loki ended the call. After a few minutes spent aimlessly turning his phone in his hands, debating, Clint stretched out on his bed and didn’t move, waiting for his apartment door to magically open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> птичка - ptichka (little bird/birdie)


	7. Chapter 7

There were some things that Clint knew to be true.

Loki Laufeyson, God of Mischief, was more powerful than Clint would have ever imagined based on the information contained in his SHIELD files alone. Hell, even having been under Loki’s wing at his absolute most destructive, at the height of his power during the Battle of New York, Clint hadn't had the slightest clue just how many skills Loki kept hidden up his proverbial sleeve at all times. At least, not until Clint had started spending time with Loki, doing what the superspy assassin did best: observing. 

Loki could wield magic, made evident by his illusion casting, astral projection abilities, and the way he could manipulate energy. If the stories that he had shared with Clint over the last few months were to be believed, Loki could _teleport_ if the conditions were right, and Clint had been witness to Loki’s shapeshifting (at least somewhat, but not likely to the full extent, Clint gathered. He knew there was something more to Loki’s ‘not a dude’ comments, and Clint could logically put pieces of puzzles together despite what others believed about his intellect). 

At more than a thousand years old, and with nearly as many years spent honing skills of battle, Loki would be able to overpower Clint in a heartbeat when it came down to brute strength, there was no doubt in Clint’s mind. There were times when Clint noticed the preternatural speed with which Loki moved; his fingers and hands completing mundane office work at a pace not quite humanly possible within the confines of his office, his movements sped up as though on a muted fast-forward when in Clint’s apartment, behind closed doors. 

But then he was there, in Clint’s bedroom doorway, coming into view softly and silently, as though wanting to go unnoticed. 

_A magical, powerful, near-immortal god with super strength and speed, and he looks like a spooked fuckin’ rabbit._

Clint had heard the click of his deadbolt less than ten minutes after his call with Loki ended, and he’d found himself holding his breath in concentration, trying to track Loki’s movements by sound alone. His ear still aching from his aid peaking during their call, Clint thought for a moment that perhaps he’d been mistaken about hearing Loki’s arrival, even after popping in his second aid; the apartment was quiet and still for so long before Loki stepped into view that Clint had to exhale, his lungs burning from holding the air in for such an extended time. 

Loki stopped at the threshold of the bedroom door and Clint watched his eyes explore, traveling along the path of the light from the window, before catching sight of Clint lying on the bed. 

Loki’s arms were wrapped around himself in a way that could be meant to appear opposing. However, Clint thought that Loki — standing there in dark lounge-pants and an overly large, forest green sweater, enveloped in himself — simply looked uncertain. Scared. Powerless.

“Come here.” Clint hadn’t meant to whisper, but Loki heard him regardless. 

Loki stepped forward, his long strides bringing him across the room in a near instant. Clint looked up at him where he stood at the side of the bed.

“How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not going to shoot you?” Clint asked. “Didn’t I make it clear like five minutes ago that I don’t have some, I dunno, evil plan brewing? Relax, Loki.”

Loki didn’t relax. If anything, he gripped himself tighter. 

Clint sighed dramatically and made a show of rolling his eyes. “You’re gonna kill me with this whiplash, pal. Did it really take the taxi ride over here to work yourself up into a ball of nerves over nothing, again?”

“I flew.”

“You f— of course you flew. Okay, that’s beside the point. Can you just—” Clint scooted over on his mattress, hyperaware that he was not only allowing himself to be trapped on the bed between the wall and Loki, but that he was hoping to be. Clint patted the empty space he had just vacated, the surface warm beneath his palm. “Sit, lay down, whatever. It’s ass-o’clock in the morning and you look so high-strung it’s making _my_ body hurt.”

Loki’s eyebrows creased. “So little of what you just said made sense,” he said as he finally surrendered, his arms falling to his sides. Loki used one hand to steady himself as he sat tentatively on Clint’s bed, spine ramrod straight. 

Silence blanketed them for long moments. Clint could only stare at Loki’s back and the long black hair that rested there. He watched the slight movement of Loki’s breathing, the only indication that Loki wasn’t a statue, wasn’t made of stone. 

“Can I touch you?” Clint asked.

Loki turned his head to gaze at Clint over his shoulder. In the shadows, Loki’s eyes looked black, but Clint couldn’t miss the plea in them. 

“If you feel you must,” Loki said. 

Clint snorted, and the slight curl to Loki’s lips and the crinkle in the corner of his eye spurred Clint to settle a hand low on Loki’s back. Loki turned his face away from Clint again, dropping his head.

Clint’s palm traversed the path of Loki’s spine, sweater soft beneath his fingers. Lying on his back didn’t allow Clint much in terms of range of motion, so he simply settled for repeating the pattern: dragging his open hand gently from Loki’s lower back to where his fingers skimmed the silk of Loki’s hair, and back down again. Rinse, and repeat. Clint could feel Loki’s tension begin to seep away incrementally, his posture relaxing bit by bit with every sweeping pass. 

“You know,” Loki said after a few minutes, “you never did tell me exactly what it was that you wanted from me.”

“Pretty sure I did? I asked, you came, ta-da!”

“ _Clint_ ,” Loki scolded. 

Clint grimaced, admonished. “I don’t know! That’s a big question, Loki. A capital B, capital Q Big Question, or at least it feels like one!” Clint stopped rubbing Loki’s back, and grasped the material of the sweater in his hand instead. Squeezed. “That’s one of those questions where there might not be a right answer, but a wrong answer might fuck everything up, real fast.” 

“Oh, for the love of—” Loki said, twisting his body to face Clint. His sweater slipped through Clint’s fingers like water. “Are all human relationships so fragile? So insurvivable, that fear of saying a wrong word keeps honesty at bay? Is _ours_ so… weak, as that?” 

“Loki, you just spent two weeks avoiding me because you were afraid I didn’t even _like_ you! Or that I was trying to scheme you—”

“How many years did you spend wishing to see me dead?”

Clint shot up so quickly that Loki swayed back a fraction.

“Did you really think I was pretending to be your friend so I could _kill_ you?” Clint said, frantic and more than a touch offended at the insinuation. 

“Do you want to know what my brother said to me, once you’d gone from New Asgard? Hm?” Loki asked, leaning forward then, eyes glinting as he crowded into Clint’s space. 

A thrum of adrenaline coursed beneath Clint’s skin. _Not so long ago, this would have been my worst fucking nightmare._

Clint planted himself firmly where he sat, refusing to retreat. 

“Sure, Loki,” Clint said, feigning nonchalance and locking eyes with the trickster in his bed. “What’d Thor have to say?”

“He said you’d all but run to me, in my time of distress. ‘A man who used to run from you as though you were a monster, now running toward you as though you are ... cherished.’” Loki rolled his eyes before continuing. “Leave it to brother dearest. He’ll never give up his crusade to make me try to feel absolved.” 

“It’s a worthwhile cause,” Clint said hurriedly. It was the first thing that popped into his mind to say, and he felt like he was scrambling, internally impressed with Thor’s intuition while cursing him at the same time. “Don’t be an asshole. Thor’s good people.” 

“Don’t change the subject, Clint.” Loki said. 

_Fuck_. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Clint smiled. It felt weak. Loki’s face was close enough that Clint could count his eyelashes should he wish, with only the bare light of early dawn outside to supplement the streetlamps through the windows. 

“Do you?” Loki asked.

The rest of the question went unasked, but Clint wasn’t an idiot. He knew what Loki was asking, didn’t need it spelled out to him. The word ‘cherished’ echoed in his mind.

_“You’re an Avenger, not a child.”_

“Don’t be a moron, Lokes,” Clint said. “I stepped through a portal that landed me halfway across the world for you, during a stint of federal house arrest, _after_ watching you _chew your ice cream_. If that doesn’t make you feel cherished, then well, I don’t know what to tell you.”

Loki exhaled sharply; Clint felt his breath, warm against his lips.

“Tell me,” Loki’s voice, low and strained, “what you want.”

“Anything you’re willing to give,” Clint said. In for a penny. 

“ _Oh_ ,” Loki breathed, eyes wide, “you’re a fool, after all. You can’t fathom what I’ve imagined since the moment my mind touched yours.”

_Aw, fucking—what? So long… all that time, afraid, **wrong** , wasted… no._

Clint had an inkling that he should have felt alarmed by the admission; instead, he found himself emboldened. 

“Try me.”

Clint had barely finished speaking before Loki surged forward, the negligible space between them crossed and shattered in an instant. Clint had all but expected it by that point, but expectation didn’t prepare him for the jolt of elation that moved through him when Loki brought their lips together. 

Clint had imagined that Loki would kiss like a storm; chaotic, demanding, unforgiving. His imagination wasn’t entirely off the mark, he found: Loki led Clint gently at first with soft, closed-mouthed presses of dry, full lips, before commanding Clint into deeper, warmer, plunging oscillations, Loki’s hands on either side of Clint’s face, cupping his jaw and pulling him forward. Loki was a darkening sky, powerful pressure, a storm building. 

Clint, mind reeling, tried to give as good as he was getting, paying attention to the way that Loki shuddered when his bottom lip was nipped, committing to memory the pleased sounds Loki made when Clint began to trail his lips across Loki’s jaw until his mouth latched onto the column of Loki’s throat. Loki’s hands, having left Clint’s face, clamored at Clint’s back instead, nails surely digging crescents into Clint’s skin. Clint needed a hand to keep himself propped up, but his other was wound into Loki’s hair, the silky feel of it between his fingers thrilling. 

“ _Gods_ , Clint, I didn’t think—” Loki started, breath hitching when Clint moved to kiss the tender spot just below Loki’s earlobe. 

“Obviously,” Clint whispered into Loki’s ear, grinning when Loki responded by twisting his hand into Clint’s short hair and pulling until Clint was forced to meet his eye. 

Loki’s pupils were blown wide, his lips kiss-swollen and hair askew. 

_I did that, fucking hell._

Loki observed him sharply, eyes roving over his face, and Clint knew that he was likely to look equally as debauched, if his heaving chest and tender mouth were any indication. Whatever it was that Loki found in Clint’s expression seemed to surprise him. 

“You really did want this. Want _me_.”

Clint tried to nod; Loki’s hand held fast. “I told you, whatever you wanted. You snuck up on me, you beautiful bastard. ’M pretty sure I’ve wanted this since I saw those pretty green eyes of yours show up on my doorstep. Just needed to… come to terms.”

Loki closed his eyes, seemingly overwhelmed. “And it doesn’t bother you, my body, like this? Because I can be different for you, if you’d like.”

Clint frowned. “You mean your body… as in your Asgardian body?”

“As in my… male form, I guess I would say. I rather do prefer it, but as I said…” 

Clint couldn’t help but to let out a small laugh, and Loki opened his eyes. 

“Loki. I’m probably more turned on right now from that five minute makeout session than I have been in decades. Male form, female form, neither, both, some form I don’t even know exists yet, I don’t give a flying fuck.” As Clint leaned forward, Loki loosened his hold on Clint’s hair, cupping the back of Clint’s neck. Clint kissed Loki, once quickly, and again. Loki’s mouth opened for him instantly the second time, and Clint felt lightheaded at the easy permission. 

Clint pulled back just enough to disentangle the two of them. “I’m going to go out on a limb and wager a guess that, since you’ve apparently been obsessed with me for the last five years, it doesn’t bug you that I’m a dude?”

Clint felt Loki’s smile against the side of his mouth, felt Loki’s lips move as he spoke. 

“Not in the least. What should bother me is your horrific sense of humor, and yet I find myself appallingly endeared.”

Clint groaned, heat like lava pooling in the pit of his stomach. “Huh. Apparently, you finding me funny really does it for me. That’s… hm. Neat.”

Clint moved to slide their mouths back together, pausing when he noticed an odd flicker in the corner of his eye. Clint leaned back and away from Loki, who did the same. 

“What is it?” Loki asked. 

Clint blinked. He wondered if his eyes were playing tricks in the early morning light ( _or, you know, could be exhaustion, dumbass_ )... but no, there was a flicker in Loki’s eyes as well, the whites of his sclera flashing scarlet for the briefest moment. 

“It’s you, being ridiculous,” Clint said. “Having a hard time keeping it up?” Loki cocked his head. “Your glamour, I mean!” Clint added with haste. _Brain, what the futz, man?!_

Loki swallowed. “It can be a challenge, as you know, in times of… emotional turbulence. It takes a fair amount of concentration.”

“Loki?”

“Hm?”

Clint rocked backward, forcing their hands to fall away from one another, and he folded his legs beneath him, bringing himself up on his knees. He gently put his hands on Loki’s shoulders and applied pressure; Loki lay flat onto the mattress with ease, wrapping his arms around Clint’s back to bring him down as well. They adjusted until Clint was slotted between Loki’s legs, covering him like a blanket, both of them still fully clothed. Only then did Clint continue with his request.

“Drop the glamour.” Clint punctuated the statement with a kiss. “Let me see you.” Another. “Don’t need you focusing on anything but _us_.” Another. “You deserve to be present for this, sweetheart.” Another.

Somewhere between the last time Clint’s lips met and left Loki’s, the god’s deep green irises were replaced with shining red, his creamy white skin exchanged for brilliant blue, and Clint spent the rest of the morning yielding to Loki; not because Loki was feared, but rather, because he was cherished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more to go! It'll be an epilogue, and I'm incredibly excited about it ♥
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> -EP


	8. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry that this took me so long to finish! Grad school is kicking my ass.
> 
> This is unbeta'd... and that's probably hella obvious. I hope it's not an absolute trash fire.
> 
> I had so much fun with this. With the epilogue, and the entire fic, really. Thank you so much to everyone who read along while this was a WIP, and thank you for every encouraging comment along the way ♥♥♥
> 
> I hope you enjoy!
> 
> -EP

They were twenty minutes into the “Naked Ankle Party” that Tony was throwing for the Rogues at the tower, and Sam still couldn’t figure out why everyone had been so damn anxious about Clint bringing Loki around. Their house arrest was over, and everyone was supposed to be happy, overjoyed, _relaxed_ , not… fuckin’ weird.

Sam wasn’t an idiot; of course he was aware of the clusterfuck that went down in 2012 (who wasn’t?). He was also aware that everyone had been fully informed by Clint, Nat, Maria, Fury, Thor, and a myriad of other people with somewhat important and vaguely made-up sounding titles, that Loki had been under mind control when he’d opened the weird space portal to let in the giant ass alien whale & co. seven years prior. 

They’d gotten over Barton’s scrambled brains pretty quickly from what Sam had heard, and the former Winter Soldier himself was currently being dragged around the palace on Tony’s arm (of all fucking people, how tables turned and all that shit). Hence Sam’s perplexion at why Steve, Tony and Bruce had not only worked themselves into tizzies in the days leading up to the party, but were also tense as hell and not taking eyes off of Loki for a second now that things were in full swing.

Sam knew all about PTSD. His own. Steve’s. Bucky’s. Tony’s. The folks’ at the VA. It was because Sam knew how difficult it would be for everyone to change their mental associations toward Loki that he’d talked Clint into bringing him into their group Skype chats last year. Sam figured it’d be good to get everyone used to each other once Nat had let the cat out of the bag about the God of Mischief himself having moved into Clint’s apartment. 

Steve had turned an interesting color when she’d dropped the news. Somewhere between olive and seaweed green around the gills. Sam had thought Steve was going to vomit (had spent about .2 seconds wondering if the serum would _let him_ vomit) before Nat had launched into an explanation, using her soothing voice, the one that she usually saved for Sam just before sleep. It had taken a few days for Steve to stop texting Clint every hour on the hour like a worried Mother hen, a few weeks for him to agree to join the Skype calls with Loki present, and a few months for him to start addressing Loki directly. 

Sam knew for a fact that Tony had texted Loki a few times, the initial shovel talks devolving into nerdy questions about space radiation or some shit that Sam didn’t even want to try to wrap his head around. And last month Loki had sent Bruce over a box with a random assortment of new teas from a shop downtown, after Bruce had mentioned getting bored of the same old blends that he’d been drinking for the last few years. Even though Bruce was free to leave the compound, Loki knew he didn’t like going into the city. Even Sam was touched by the sentiment.

Sam thought that by this time, they’d had enough gradual exposure and second-hand interaction with Loki, enough assurance from fuckin’ everyone and their Mother, to _be okay_. And yet Sam could see clear as day from where he was leaning against the far back wall of the room that _everyone_ was walking on eggshells. 

Well, everyone except for Natasha… and, weirdly enough, Loki. 

Loki seemed to be the most comfortable person in the room, far more comfortable than Sam had ever even seen him during their video chats. He’d given Sam a half-hug when he and Clint had arrived, and the grin on his face hadn’t faltered the entire time, not even for a second. He’d seemed excited to see everyone, somehow more excited than Clint, whose smile was tight, stance rigid when smothered with affection by everyone the second he’d stepped into the room. 

_Stress does weird shit to people,_ Sam thought, shaking his head and bringing his beer to his lips. He watched Loki tug Clint by the hand across the room over to where Scott was talking with Rhodey, where Loki proceeded to interrupt them, grinning and shaking their hands like an excitable school child. _Stress does really, really weird shit to people. And Gods, apparently._

“Don’t think so hard. I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.” Nat sidled up beside Sam against the wall before reaching over to casually steal his beer from his hand. He rolled his eyes as she finished it off in one long pull. 

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a rude ass?” He asked, turning his head to the side, his focus effectively swayed from Clint and Loki for the first time since they’d arrived. 

Nat pretended to ponder, eyebrows dramatically creased. “No, no, just you. Which means it must be a you problem.” The corner of her mouth twitched.

Sam scoffed, tossing an arm around her shoulder and pulling her close. She went with ease, slipping an arm around him, between his lower back and the wall. Once comfortable she sighed and quirked her head toward the Dynamic Duo of the hour. 

“I don’t know who they think they’re fooling. Honestly, it’s kind of painful,” Nat remarked, judgment heavy in her voice. 

Sam pulled his gaze from her shock of red hair and scanned the room until he once again zeroed in on Clint and Loki, who had stepped away from Scott and Rhodey and were off to the side by themselves. Trying to parse out what Nat was talking about, Sam simply watched as Loki wrapped his arms around Clint, who kept his own arms crossed over his chest, but dropped his forehead against Loki’s shoulder, stepping firmly into the embrace. 

“You gonna lord it over my head if I say that I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about?” Sam asked, knowing the answer but asking anyway. 

Natasha pulled back far enough to stare up at Sam, a look of disbelief on her face. “You can’t tell?”

“Tell what?” Sam asked, exasperated. He looked back; Loki was rubbing his hands up and down Clint’s arms and peppering his face with kisses, being ridiculous, an obvious attempt to get Clint to relax. From the looks of it, it was starting to work. Sam could just make out the beginning of a smile on Clint’s face. “That they’re disgustingly in love with one another?”

Nat snorted and rested her head back against Sam’s chest. “Well, yes. You would have to be blind not to see that, frankly.” She shook her head; her hair tickled Sam’s chin. “I cannot be the only one in a room of enhanced assholes, trained military soldiers and fucking _spies_ who can see it! Sam, babe, just… remember who we’re watching, here.”

It took Sam another half an hour to figure it out, and when he did, he _shouted_. 

It happened when the waitstaff started bringing out the hors d'oeuvres, a dozen snazzily dressed employees carefully balancing trays as they weaved in and out of the growing crowd. Sam was still watching Clint and Loki intently as they talked with Bruce and Bucky. He was starting to get frustrated, having not noticed anything new, other than observing that Clint had started to relax, and Loki had started to cool down as everyone had apparently decided to finally fucking _unclench_ and stop acting like spooked rabbits. 

Sam was just about to leave his perch against the wall, Nat having done so shortly beforehand to go mingle, when it happened. Loki turned while still yammering about something to Bucky, and reached for an appetizer from one of the passing trays. Instead of snatching a morsel, Loki clumsily overshot, dropping his hand and flipping the tray, which completed an impressive three spins in the air before clattering to the ground. Loki looked chagrined, and Sam’s gaze darted to Clint, who covered his eyes with his right hand, looking for all intents and purposes like he was wondering how he had managed to get stuck with such a klutzy-

“Holy FUCK you’re trying to pull a Freaky Friday!” Sam yelled, the words bursting out of his mouth, easily heard over the light music in the room. There wasn’t a record scratch, per say, but most everyone’s eyes did turn in Sam’s direction. Sam felt his face burn; he hadn’t _actually_ meant to do that. At least, not that loudly.

He heard Natasha snort out a “No shit” from somewhere nearby.

Sam kicked off of the wall and hurried toward Clint and Loki, who both looked like deer caught in headlights. Bruce and Bucky had fallen quiet and were staring as Sam stopped just in front of them. 

Loki ( _Clint!_ ) opened his mouth first. “I don’t know what-”

“Oh, please, Barton. You really expect me to believe that Loki’d be that graceless?” Sam arched an eyebrow, crossed his arms in a mirror of Loki-wearing-Clint’s-body-or-something. Clint’s body, which heaved a huge sigh.

“The man has a point,” Clint’s voice said in Loki’s cadence, and all at once the men in front of Sam shimmered, and _damn, Barton should try dressing in high end fashion all the time, it does him a world of good._

Glamours dropped, Clint and Loki both looked incredibly sheepish, and Sam felt a tug of sympathy when Loki physically flinched as Steve and Tony made their way through the crowd to stand at Sam’s side. 

“I thought Barton was acting awfully constipated,” Tony cracked, the joke falling flat. 

“Care to explain what the hell all of that was?” Steve asked, not unkindly, but in a much more Captain-America-esque tone than Sam thought was wholly called for. 

“Uh,” Clint started. “It was my idea?”

“Clint,” Loki stepped in. Sam watched Loki close his eyes for a moment, seeming to steel himself, before opening them and looking directly at Steve. “I didn’t want to come here tonight. I couldn’t see myself coming here any night, if I’m speaking honestly, and I am. The amount of forgiveness that I… the amount of debt…” Loki stuttered, his eyes falling to the floor. 

“I thought it would be easier since I’m more comfortable around all y’all,” Clint said. He shrugged. “It made sense. You’d be paying attention to Loki, not me, and if tonight went all fine and dandy, then, you know? He wouldn’t have to be all anxious and self-deprecating _for no reason_ next time.” Clint shot Loki a glare that reminded Sam all too much of Natasha. 

Sam watched the muscles in Steve’s jaw clench and unclench; Sam knew Steve enough by now to be able to practically _hear_ the thought process in his head. _I understand, and Clint was trying to be sweet, but it’s not a good idea to win us over via deception, blah blah blah…_

“Stevie, don’t be an asshole.” 

Sam shot his gaze over to Bucky, who had stepped up beside Loki. Sam’s eyebrows shot up; he watched as Bucky leaned over a bit, tried to catch what Bucky was whispering to Loki. He caught “ _...okay...touch…?_ ” and when Loki nodded after a brief pause, Bucky grinned his mega-watt grin and slung an arm over Loki’s shoulders. 

“Barton and I can’t have an actual club without a third brainwashed badass, ya know. So stop with the disappointed Dad look, have Thor hook you up with some of the strong booze and let the kids enjoy their night, yeah?”

Sam loved Bucky. By the looks of it, so did Clint, and with the way Loki was gaping wide eyed at the man, he was well on his way to boarding the Loving-Bucky train as well. 

Steve’s resolve crumbled, because of course it did. He nodded and relaxed a fraction, and everyone seemed to take that as their cue to chill the fuck out and move the fuck on. 

Sam resumed his role as onlooker as Tony bounced over to Bucky in order to pull him into a frankly disgusting display of PDA, murmuring nonsense about being “so hot when you stand up to Rogers, my god.” It was apparently a perfect opportunity for Clint to pull Loki away, and this time it made much more sense, the way that Clint soothed and comforted Loki, who soaked up Clint’s love and affection like a sponge.

 _Damn, all of these people are a mess_ , Sam thought to himself, shaking his head and making his way over to Nat, who, by the looks of it, had engaged Maria in a riveting game of quarter bounce.

They were a mess, but well worth the two years of house arrest, he supposed.


End file.
